


Not Your Saint George

by Soulfulbard



Category: RWBY, World of Ere
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, F/M, Gen, If You Like Spice and Wolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 102,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9448874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulfulbard/pseuds/Soulfulbard
Summary: Pyrrhanykos is not exactly the most terrifying dragon. Lucky for her, Jaune Arc is not exactly the deadliest dragonslayer. So when they meet, it isn't exactly an epic battle for the ages. Instead it's the start of an adventurous journey full of danger, self-discovery and maybe, just maybe some romance.





	1. In Which Man And Dragon Clash

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction, created for entertainment purposes only and with no claim to the characters depicted. Ownership of RWBY characters and concepts belongs to Rooster Teeth. The World of Ere setting belongs to Landon Porter and Paradox-Omni Entertainment.

The Hailene War of Ascension left deep scars both in the land an in the very spirits of demihumanity. The genocidal scourge of the Hailene Empire had been broken by the Vishnari Alliance, but without the unifying threat of annihilation, the alliance itself began to crumble.

Allies drifted apart an became distant at best, enemies at worst. Those who were once heroes in the face of conquest and oppression began their own sojourns into carving out lands for their own rule, both just and unjust. The acts of heroism among those who once and would again be called monsters and 'savage' races were forgotten.

So began what modern history would know as the Age of Tragedies.

But it should always be remembered that even in the darkest times, there have always been and always will be points of light. One that is particularly celebrated among certain circles of bards, dragon cults and one very peculiar and influential family living in the south of Novrom began in the seventy-third year after the end of the War; when like many of his counterparts, Lord Naevarys Citraan announced a bounty on the dragons whose territories overlapped his lands...

RWBYRWBYRWBY

The shrill mental cacophony of the alarm spell snapped Pyrrhanykos of the Red Nation out of her sleep. One heavy eyelid opened, the transparent secondary lid remaining firmly in place as proof against the smoke that permeated her lair from the many small fires she kept going.

At first she didn't move, knowing that any motion would cause a small avalanche of the coins, weapons and other trinkets that made up be bed-slash-horde, giving away her position to who or whatever was intruding in her domain.

It was probably nothing though: she kept her alarm spells running at maximum sensitivity out of simple paranoia and this wouldn't be the first time a hungry rat or curious orm set them off. She wouldn't mind either one disturbing her sleep at the moment: mountain rats were delicious if prepared correctly and orms, distant evolutionary relatives to dragons, were entertaining if flighty pets.

Of course neither orms nor rats wore boots, which crunched in the gravel just inside her cave entrance like the ones she hear.

So there really was an intruder in her lair. A thief, a lost traveler or gods and demons forbid, an adventurer, she had no way of knowing, but to the Seven Interlocking Hells of the Inferno with the idea of letting them come any closer unchallenged.

Rising from her lazy sprawl, she fanned her wings and shook herself, allowing lose bits of her bedding to slide away noisily—hopefully making more noise than one would expect from a dragon her size. Coins of various denominations and mintings clattered and tinkled off her along with a truly impressive assortment of bladed implements.

Pyrrhanykos liked weapons more than coin or baubles, but if she were forced to be honest, less than half her collection of blades were proper tools of violence. A lot of them were camp cutlery because travelers and adventurers guarded that a great deal less jealously than their actual weapons or valuables. Still, even a butter knife could do amazing amounts of harm with a dragon's strength behind it.

In the dark and smoke near where the cave entrance took a sharp turn around a corner from the entrance (no dragon was dumb enough to lair somewhere opponents could just lob spells into form afar), she heard a gasp and possibly the sound of nervous swallowing.

Just as she'd convinced herself she was just going to are off some idiot lost on the mountain, a voice called out.

“H-hear me, Dragon! By order of Lord Naevarys Citraan, for the crime of poaching game from the Lord's forest, of fishing his streams without permission, for waylaying travelers, for robbery, a-and for the high crime of being an unsanctioned monster in the Lord's land, I, Jaune Arc h-have come to carry out a sentence of death. S-surrender peacefully and you will dispatched without undue pain.”

He didn't sound particularly sure of himself, but from the smell of him, he was human and Pyrrhanykos's brood mother had always warned the hatchlings that humans among all demihumanity were a wily lot with many tricks and adaptations squirreled away just waiting to surprise the unwary.

Case in point, he wasn't' coughing or seeming to have any trouble seeing in her smoke-filled lair. Either he or someone else had cast a filter air spell upon him. That also meant he'd come prepared to fight a dragon of the Red Nation like her specifically. While it was true that both red and gold dragons were creatures of the flame, the Gold Nation had a literal inner fire that kept them comfortably warm. The Red Nation, though warm blooded like any dragon (contrary to popular demihuman belief), still chilled easily and sought out sources of heat: fire, lava, what have you. A Red lair was always filled with smoke, if not ash or even pyroclastic clouds.

Luckily, her brood mother was also a wise old wyrm and had instilled on all the little dragons she hatched an important life lesson: adventurers always expected dragons to be color-coded for their convenience and rarely expected, say a Red Nation dragon to know vin the power of wind and lightning. Pyrrhanykos had chosen something more to her liking in tat regard: ferif the power of metal and magnetism.

Tapping into her inner reserves of energy, she brought a bubble of ferif to the surface, ready to call into service at a moment's notice. However, she didn't attack right away.

Cautious she might be, but Pyrrhanykos had two fatal flaws that came into play at the moment: curiosity and bravado. She wanted to know what caused this obviously terrified human to trek all the way up the mountain to antagonize her almost as much as she wanted to make it clear to him he had no chance against her.

“Oh really?” It had been almost twenty years since she had to speak the common tongue of demihumans and she hoped she had the inflections right. Also that she sounded threatening. To her, it felt like she'd come of sounding a little too... cordial? “I've been living here for over thirty years and I've never heard of his Lord Citraan.”

Saying you've been around thirty years to another dragon was like saying you've been around for the past twenty minutes, but she'd heard thirty years was a fairly big number t humans, especially in the politically unstable region around the mountain range she called home.

A nervous cough, a scrapping of metal against metal. Through the smoke, Pyrrhanykos could see the would-be adventurer trying to scratch his head through the boiled leather helm that made up his patchwork armor. That in and of itself was a curiosity to her: his breastplate and pauldrons looked to be masterworks of armor craft, but then under it he was wearing the leathers of a conscript who was at the back of the line when armor got handed out.

“Huh.” Jaune Arc said thoughtfully. “Well yeah, about that: he only really arrived in the region maybe twelve years ago? I was a kid when he first came in and said my village was part of his realm.”

Ah, Pyrrhanykos thought, one of those lords. The chaotic aftermath of the War had gone on almost as long as she'd been alive and the story rarely changed: old generals and field commanders with enough loyal soldiers to overpower the average town guard rolling into remote regions, declaring themselves king of their little hills and trying to expand. And oh yes, putting out bounties on dragons 'savage' races and powerful monsters as soon as they had the coin to spare to try and make sure nothing powerful enough to challenge them remained.

Many such men and women ended up as something unpleasant and stringy between someone's teeth—assuming there was enough left to eat. One did not threaten a fully-grown dragon—or a clan of mountain ogres for that matter—without consequence.

But then there was the small problem for Pyrrhanykos that she was not a full-grown dragon. Being in her early eighties, she was probably in a relative sense around the same developmental age as the adventurer before her and as dragons went,s he was tiny, only about the size of a horse—not a very big horse either.

Still, she was bigger than Jaune was and had the advantage of not being afraid. Flaring her wings to make herself appear larger, she stalked through the twisting cloud of smoke toward him. “Tell me, Jaune Arc, if he hasn't even been your lord your whole life, then why are you willing to risk your life fighting a dragon for him? We are quite dangerous, you know?”

She didn't give him time to answer, calling on the ferif she'd gathered and tying it to a stray copper coin on the ground between them. The coin rose off the ground, span a few times in the air, then streaked toward the awestruck adventurer with such great speed that that the air made the sound like a small explosion.

The coin exploded into sparks on Jaune's breastplate, causing him the leap back, terror in his eyes. “Blood to ice!” he swore, unaware that this particular oath is a lot stronger to a dragon of the Red Nation than most other folk.

Backpedaling, he ended up stepping on a pewter flask (which was the closest thus far Pyrrhanykos had come to securing anything like the golden chalices that adorned the nest where she'd hatched. But a dragon had to start somewhere) and ended up coming down hard on his back on the cavern floor.

“Please don't kill me!” he blurted out, managing to get his shield up between them.

Pyrrhanykos raised a ridged brow and came closer, placing one claw atop the sword he'd dropped in the process. “Shouldn't that be my line? You did come here demanding I submit to execution, yes?” Damn her eyes, she still sounded casual—almost playful—to her own ears. It was probably from learning the common tongue form listening to people talking with their comrades around camp fires. She really needed to learn how to sound threatening.

Whatever she thought she sounded like, she probably could have asked if he wanted tea and it probably would have still scared Jaune at this point. “It's not like I wanted to do this!” He babbled from behind his shield. “I've got nothing against dragons or kobolds or orms...

Pyrrhanykos rolled her eyes. Another one of those. Why did everyone think kobolds were related to dragons? Especially the kobolds themselves.

Unaware of this, Jaune continued, “I-I just needed the money. The bounty for any dragon is five thousand gold weights. I-I've got seven sisters to think of. Plus my parents. I'm trying to pay their way out of here—so they can so somewhere safe and stable like all the way to the North, to Harpsfell.”

At this point, Pyrrhanykos was wondering if being inadvertently insulting was some sort of heretofore unknown distraction tactic. Harpsfell had been the first place the dragons had been overthrown in that long-ago time when dragons ruled the mortal races. What their people had done to demihumans back then was a bottomless well of shame especially to the Red Nation.

She quickly discarded the thought because he was terrified and completely genuine. Still... “And so, to help your family escape Citraan's rule, you're willing to kill me in his name?” At least this came out satisfyingly accusatory.

“Well I...” Jaune struggled to come up with some way to justify his actions, but that was pretty hard to do when talking to the one whose life hung in the balance when it came to said actions. “I... got nothing. It's wrong. I know it's wrong, but I wasn't thinking, okay? I just hate the idea of my family being stuck here while Citraan ruins everything.”

The dragoness regarded him for a silent moment. Family wasn't a topic dragons related to well. Oh, they kept track of bloodlines and both blood parents and brood mothers (the dragons that actually did the hatching and teaching of young dragons) held some importance in a dragon's life along with brood siblings, but these weren't close relationships. Friends and mates found later in life were more akin to what a human would regard as their 'family'.

This didn't mean she was without empathy. It was clear from how Jaune spoke how much his family meant to him. And really, it said a lot that he'd come to her lair at all, given how afraid he was. Something drove him even beyond fear, morals or common sense.

Even knowing nothing of the local economy, Pyrrhanykos figured it was indeed expensive to transplant a family of ten hundred or thousands of miles to a new home. Five thousand gold weights was a lot of coin. She didn't even have a fraction of that in her horde, which was mostly copper and cutlery. Slaying a dragon was probably quite honestly the only way to make that much aside from robbing a noble...

“Hmm,” now there was an idea.

“W-was that a good 'hmm' or a 'I'm going to kill you' 'hmm'”

Humans were wily. As frightened and pliable as Jaune Arc appeared, Pyrrhanykos felt she'd need to broach the subject delicately and honestly while still maintaining the upper claw so to speak. Abruptly, she sat down on her haunches and wrapped her tail around her claws, making sure the black, calcified natural spear at its tip was clearly on display.

“I'm sorry, I was thinking,” she said, actually trying to sound cordial now. “I really do not want to kill you, Jaune—even if you were willing to kill me.”

“T-to tell the truth, I'm not really sure I could have gone through with it. Y'know, now that I've met you. I was kind of expecting you to be more scary and... draogn-y. Like a big, smart animal instead of talking and thinking like a person.”

He really did seem to enjoy digging himself deeper, she mused.

“Plus, I never really killed someone before.”

“Neither have I,” she admitted, “But you've put me in a terrible position: If I send you back, you may tell people where my lair is and someone less...” she decided not to say 'incompetent', “...thoughtful will come for me and I'll have to kill or be killed anyway.”

Jaune let his shield drop to the side and made a sign over his chest, sketching out a rough sign of the Piercing Eye of Denaii, god of Honor among other things, “I swear I would never do that! Not if you let me live.”

“Even for a portion of the bounty? A fraction of five thousand still helps your family, yes?”

Seeing not future in trying to lie to the dragon, Jaune nodded and winced. Then he tried to bargain. “B-but if I die here, they'll know for sure there was something dangerous in the area where I disappeared. I made camp not far from here.”

That was a good point. Pyrrhanykos huffed unhappily at the thought. She had no idea how well-liked Jaune was either: the whole town might rally to rush her cave for all she knew. “True. So you see my problem, Jaune: I have no good options as to what to do with you.” She made a motion she understood humans called a 'shrug', which made her wings flare a little. “Plus, now I feel a bit badly about leaving your family in their situation.”

Jane's eyes darted around the room. Dragons were known to horde treasure, so he was hoping to find something portable and expensive to ask for. What he found were scattered copper and silver coins, piles of daggers, a few swords, and the contents of several dozen campsites worth of mess kits, mostly knives. There were others odds and ends there, but nothing like the old stories told of.

Than again, the old stories told of dragons the size of houses or even entire villages, so what did they know?

Not that his erstwhile opponent wasn't impressive with vivid red scales, a series of elegantly curved horns marching up her brow ridges in ranks ascending in size, and piercing green eyes. Here and there, her scales were—for the lack of a better word—decorated by patterns of bronze that appeared to have been drizzled over them while molten and allowed to cool. Combined with pearly dagger-teeth, wicked talons and that tail barb, and she was a work of art and an engine of destruction all at the same time.

Pyrrhanykos noticed him noticing her horde and snorted, bringing chemicals into a pair of tubes running up the inner side of her throat. Spitting them both at once, she launched a globule of burning gel the size of Jaune's fist into the ground between his feet, causing him to crab-walk backward with a yelp.

“No.” she said firmly. “Besides, I'm very young: my horde isn't work all that much to anyone but me.”

It took the young adventurer a moment to convince himself she'd missed on purpose and another to marvel at the burning gel that continued to smolder long after striking the stone floor. “Uh... right. So what are you going to do then?”

It was the question she'd been waiting for him to ask. “Well. It seems to me that both out problems stem from that bounty on dragons. You need the coin and I need the idiot who put it on my head to not have the coin to offer such things any longer.”

Jaune gave her a blank look. “O...kay? You want to what? Rob him? Because I'm not sure I'd be good at such a thing and you're... well a dragon. They might notice you sneaking into the vaults.”

His reaction actually gave her hope. People apparently didn't know that much in the way of facts regarding dragons if Jaune was anything to go by. She lowered her head to be on his level. “Let me paint you a picture, Jaune: you return to Citraan with the story of how you fought the dragon who lives here fiercely, forcing her to withdraw and flee. I'm willing to wager that not many of his warriors ave managed that. He'd almost certainly want you to join his service—which would give you access to his household at least some of the time.”

At this, Jaune shook his head. “It's a nice idea, but he's never going to believe me on my word. Plus, I'd have no proof.”

“You would if in the process of driving the dragon off, you rescued a fellow adventurer who can corroborate your tale,” offered the dragoness, rising to all fours, “People in your village know you, yes? They can all agree you have no accomplices who would tell that kind of lie for you?”

“Well, yes, but where are we going to...” Jaune trialed off because something very odd was happening to the dragon and she didn't seem to be enjoying it.

With older dragons, changing shape was a fluid, almost instantaneous process, especially for the Black and Silver Nations. This usually came form practice that taught the dragon to minimize the muscle strains, bents bones, and contorted joints that accompanied such transformations.

For reference, Pyrrhanykos had changed a grand total of five times. So it hurt like few things she'd experienced before. Her skeleton creaked as her muscles changed more swiftly than it did, pulling her bones into shapes they weren't meant to assume. The itch and prickle of every scale on her body receding into her flesh maddened her. An overall feeling of being compressed in a full-body vise made her eyes water and her lungs beg for air.

For what felt like minutes or even hours, her body was wracked with an agony most would never know, struck by vertigo and sickness from a sudden, distressing loss of mass, and numbed as vast swathes of her senses took their leave.

After far too long, she felt herself falling, striking the ground like a fleshy hammer. Something pressed sharply into her side and the miraculous part of her draconic mind that cataloged every single piece of her horde could tell by the shape that she'd landed on a pie server. Why in the Seven Interlocking Hell of the Inferno she'd decided to keep a pie server escaped her for the moment.

Seconds ticked by and she just lay there, willing the various aches assailing her new body away and listening to the confused babble escaping Jaune's mouth.

“The stories never said dragons could do that!” he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. She wondered if he was going to run, but after a moment, tentative footsteps approached. “A-are you okay?”

“In a word? Not really.” She forced herself up into a sitting position and for a moment, was confused as to why all she was seeing was a red curtain. Then she realized it was her hair and brushed it aside with her hand. She had a lot of hair in human form. It was one of the features she really liked about demihumans that dragons lacked.

She could have done with some scales though. The clothing she'd conjured folded and clung and billowed in all the wrong places and made her feel like there was a living thing trying to swarm over her skin. Ugh, and the skin. She felt like it might tear if she moved wrong. She took a second to pinch her arm to make sure she hadn't accidentally made it too thin and found it resistant enough.

“That looked like it hurt.” to her surprise, Jaune was standing before her, offering a hand up.

Any other time, she would have refused the help, but her muscles were still twitching from the change and she wasn't sure she could get to her feet on her own just yet, so she took his hand. It was warm—actually very warm thanks to being in the heated cave for so long—thank goodness. She'd always imagined human flesh would feel clammy considering how much they sweated.

“So...” Jaune said once she was standing on her own two feet, “Are there dragons just walking around among us mortals all the time?”

“Not that I know of,” Pyrrhanykos said, giving her new form an experimental stretch. Most dragons were less... whimsical... with their shapechanging. Most simply became birds to travel long distances without drawing attention, or smaller creatures to enter spaces they were too large to fit into. It was mostly the Black Nation whose curiosity about demihumanity led them to take the guise of fellow sapients for any appreciable amount of time.

A beat passed in which she'd expected Jaune to fill the silence. When he didn't, she looked in his direction and... was he staring at her? With no frame of reference, she didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. There were any number of things she could have gotten wrong, and the fact that he hastily looked away when she caught him staring pointed in that direction.

Pride kept her from asking what it was and drove her to fill that silence herself.

“In case it wasn't obvious, I will play the part of the adventurer you saved. I'd have a life debt to you for saving me of course, giving us a reason for me to remain close and also gain access to the Lord's household.” She paused after a thought hit her. “Do... humans enter into life debts?”

Jaune shrugged. “They do in stories. In my village, it hasn't really come up, I don't think. Haven't been many chances to save anyone around here.”

“Do you think Lord Citraan would accept that's what happened?”

Another shrug. “I don't see a reason why not... I'm sorry, this is really weird. Are you still like a dragon on the inside, or...”

“I still have the durability, strength and inner magic of a dragon, but for all practical purposes, I am as human as you are for the moment.” Pyrrhanykos said with no idea how to prove it if he asked.

He nodded slowly, looking quite dubious at the claim. “So what am I supposed to call you?”

She tilted her head and hummed in thought. Plenty of demihumans had names in the draconic tongue, so that wasn't an issue. A lot of them had surnames though, something dragons almost universally lacked. Dragonsired, the offspring or descendants of unions between dragons and demihumans took had two names and an appellation that denoted their draconic parent's Nation, at least in the dragon cults. But then, she'd taken a fully human form, not a dragonsired one.

After some mulling over, she decided to keep things as simple as possible.

“You may call me Pyrrha Nikos.”


	2. The Three Treasures

On an intellectual level, Jaune knew that he was still looking at a dragon. There were even flaws in the shape she'd taken: no one's hair was that particular shade of red and her eyes were ever so slightly too large. She was more like a drawing of a woman than any of the real thing he'd ever met.

But the less rational part of his mind couldn't help acknowledging that unreal or not, she made for a highly attractive woman. Which she wasn't, he was quick to remind himself, because she was a dragon. A big, scaly monster of legend who was more than capable of killing him where he stood.

“Is something the matter?” she asked, those glimmering green eyes that had shot a lance of predatory fear into him earlier looked honestly confused and self conscious now as she held out her arms and looked down to examine herself. “I should have the exact form I pictured in my mind's eye—and I've seen more than a few adventuring women on the mountain... is this wrong?”

Some traitorous portion of Jaune's mind pointed out that there was no reason for a dragon to keep mundane clothes lying around. That meant that the simple red shirt and tan skirt she was wearing were conjured; probably spun out of the air from ice and light.

He looked away with a nervous cough. “No, you're... fine. So we need to get our story straight. I'm supposed to have saved you from the dragon that lives here?”

Raising an eyebrow at his odd behavior, she nodded slowly. “Yes. We can say that I am an adventurer who whose party was waylaid by the beast. The others scattered and perished while the dragon took me to torment—as dragons do.”

“They do?” Jaune gulped.

“I find it would be best to discourage anyone else from running around and confronting dragons. If the threat of death won't do, maybe torture will.” She turned a slow circle, surveying her home. No matter how things went after this, she knew she would never be able to return. That meant most of her hoard—such as it was—would be lost to her.

A heaviness weighted down on her thinking of that. It was mostly objectively junk, but it held memories of sojourns out onto the mountain, discovering ruins of old camps and settlements, stalking bands of explorers and adventurers so she could spy on them and learn more about the larger worlds, and the various trials of stealth and guile she'd undertaken to claim even the most worthless of baubles.

Young dragons, her brood mother often said, were more related to magpies than orms.

Suppressing an unhappy sigh, she committed herself to taking only what she needed and only the absolutely most sentimental and leaving the rest. Maybe once Lord Citraan was dealt with, she could return and claim what was hers. Or perhaps some years from then, another young dragon would stumble upon what to them was a great treasure.

All the same, she knew where she had to start: she had a grand total of three very minor magical items and they all would be a great help to her if she was going to have to be in a human shape for a while.

Without a word, she turned and headed for the rear of the cave where she normally slept.

Reluctantly, Jaune followed behind at a respectful distance. While she'd been thinking, he'd been turning over her suggestion in his own head. “I guess that makes sense. But if you lost to this dragon, how did I manage to chase her... it... away? It's got to be something I could actually do and something that would impress Lord Citraan.”

Pyrrha sank to her knees and started digging through layers of copper coins, rusted cutlery and even shiny stones she'd taken a liking to in her youth. “Alright, how exactly did you plan to best me in the first place?”

He shrugged. “I was kind of hoping to convince you to surrender. Believe it or not, I've got sort of a talent for getting to people to do what I ask.”

Pausing, she gave him a sidelong look. “I think it would take more than a talent to convince someone to submit to execution.”

At least he had the decency to look ashamed. “Yeah, probably. I honestly don't have a lot going for me. I'm more of a mage than a warrior. Not much of a mage, mind, but I do have this.” From inside his armor, he produced a palm-sized book bound in black leather. “My grandmother's ritual book. She fought in the War. The real war, not the border skirmishes and things my parents fought in.”

“My parents fought in the War as well.” Pyrrha replied simply as she continued to sift through her soon to be abandoned possessions. After almost a thousand years carefully isolating themselves from demihumans, the Dragon Nations had rallied to the side of the Vishnari Alliance against the hailene. There had been great sacrifices. The Blue Nation in particular had been brought so close to the brink of extinction that it was widely known that it was impossible for them to recover. The future of their blood lay solely in their dragonsired progeny.

Pyrrha herself didn't know if her parents survived the War. She knew where their shared territory was, but even if she felt the need to look for them, she was still too young to make the journey so far west through lands filled with monsters far deadlier than a young dragoness and kingdoms in a constant cycle of civil wars and coups.

Her fingers grazed leather and she paused in her digging to fish the first of her belongings free. It was a bulky satchel made of a dark brown hide with leather trim and straps, held closed by a silver clasp. It wasn't one of the well-known high-capacity bags whose interior was larger than their exterior thanks to the application of vox the energy of the void. Instead, it was infused with ere-a and ferif, elemental earth and metal to render it and its contents virtually indestructible.

It had come into her possession when she'd found its previous owner long frozen to death in a rarely used pass. A macabre memory, but it was her first magical possession, so she treasured it nevertheless.

Reverently, she sat it aside and continued digging. Noting that Jaune had lapsed into uncomfortable silence, she decided to pick up the conversation where they left off. “What sort of spells do you know then? Even if they aren't powerful, perhaps we can concoct some clever use you might have employed to 'defeat' me.”

Jaune sat down, careful not to stab himself on the truly heroic amount of sharp things littering the ground. With a quiet sigh, he leaned forward, hands pressed firmly on his knees and distracted himself looking at the various items around them. “I'm good with ere-a and vitae mostly, though I know things like filter air—which I guess is obvious since I'm not choking to death in here.

“I can raise of lower the earth maybe... five feet? Ten if I'm really concentrating. Make it shoot up in spikes or just blast rocks out of the ground. That's the best battle-type magic I've got. I can heal people... a little, which I don't see scaring a dragon, and I can make myself weaker to make myself faster or the other way around. I think that's called body alter, but I'm not sure.” He hesitated a bit before adding, “And I know some dark anima too. My grandmother always said you can't learn vitae without knowing some nekras. I'd... rather not even let someone like Lord Citraan know that though, okay? Besides, it's creepy. One time I was practicing in the barn... and I brought all the bugs and things that had died in there... back.”

The way he said 'back' sent a shiver down Pyrrha's spine. Obviously the creatures hadn't been returned to anything resembling a natural life.

“I'd appreciate not having to witness that myself,” she assured him. “But your ere-a magic sounds promising. In theory, if you lowered the earth and stone in my cave at the right spots, you could collapse it. That would be a suitable threat.”

After a long pause, she added, “Not that I'm inviting you to try.”

Jaune jerked and tried to stand while holding his hands up defensively. “I-I wouldn't! I swear, I wouldn't!”

Grabbing his arm to keep him from slashing himself to bits on the blade-strewn floor, she forced him into steadiness with calm, steady strength. After several evasions, she managed to lock eyes with him and offered a warm smile. Or so she hoped. She made sure not to show her teeth.

“I know you won't Jaune. I was trying to be humorous.” Tentatively releasing her grip, she moved her hand to lightly rest on his shoulder. This was a gesture she knew: adventurers always seemed to be doing it. As far as she could tell it was a gesture of trust and reassurance. It must have worked, as the blonde would-be dragonslayer relaxed a fraction.

“I understand this is an unusual circumstance for you. It is for me as well, but we will need to have one another's trust if we're to succeed. Otherwise, this Lord Citraan will have both our heads.” When he nodded, she let go of him and returned to her excavation. “Good. Then our story is set. You arrived to find me at the dragon's mercy and, thinking fast, threatened to bring the lair down on her head, causing her to flee. Thanks to your thrilling heroics, my life was saved, and as the people of my native... Nikosia... do, I have now pledged my loyalty and my soul to your service.”

As she pulled a pelt from the debris of her nest, she continued with an affected fawning voice, “Oh, Master Arc, I would follow you into the Inferno itself if that Is your wish!”

Jaune winced and looked away. “Maybe not so...” He trailed off as he watched her unfold the pelt. “Is that a spirit beast's hide?”

Pyrrha nodded. Spirit beasts were a curse upon the land: normal living creatures twisted and transformed by a phenomenon known as divinity sparks. The resultant monster was usually stronger, larger and more powerful than their natural counterparts, but more frighteningly, they often became sapient and possessed of incredibly powers and abilities, the most common of which was effective immortality.

This one had been a fox of some type, its body easily three times the size of a normal fox and its fur was the color of blood with silver at the tip of the tail and along the belly. Additional lines of silver, curiously geometric in their patterns decorated the back and flanks. Someone had replaced the eyes with glass ones that shone an unnatural blue.

“Did you kill it?” his voice was hushed with awe. It was a notable feat for anyone to overcome their semi-immortality save by beheading or immolation, but the specimen Pyrrha was holding seemed remarkably whole and uncharred.

“I'm afraid not,” she said truthfully. What she didn't say was that she'd seen it in use one night while following a merchant caravan and simply had to have it. And by 'had to have it', she meant she nicked it while its owner was bathing in a river.

Young dragons, her brood mother was fond of saying, were all part magpie.

Chuckling to herself (much to Jaune's confusion), she stood and took a moment to consider how the original owner had worn it. She normally put it around her neck, but now she was a third of her size and doing so would likely smother her. After some thought, she wound it around her waist, allowing the tail to hang down along her right leg. There was a spring inside the fox's jaw that let her use it as a clasp to fasten it so the rest of the pelt hung around her hips.

The silver lines briefly flashed as the pelt's magic became active.

That didn't go unnoticed by Jaune. “So... what's it do? Make you faster? More Agile?”

 

The dragoness gave him a surprisingly impish grin. “Nothing so practical.” She held out a hand and a heatless green flame burst into being in her outstretched palm. A simple gesture flicked the flame to the floor where it grew and changed shape, becoming a green-flame simulacrum of her dragon form, only half scale. Another motion caused the image to explode into multicolored fireworks that burst and skittered through the air. “This, I believe is called a Sash of Foxfire. The green flame it gives me can create images, light and sound. They're all obviously illusory, but I have fun with it.”

Jaune couldn't help but match the joyful expression she wore. “I have to say, that really was something. If we don't manage to get into Lord Citraan's household, we could always busk at my village's festivals.”

“Let's keep that plan in reserve, shall we.” Pyrrha returned to her nest once more, though now she seemed to know where she wanted to search. It took her only a moment for her hands to close over a curve of metal that was warmed both by the temperature of the cavern and her own body heat, having been at the very center of her nest for more than a decade.

“This though... it's the most valuable thing I own. I never expected to be able to use it though. Never thought I'd have a reason.”

From beneath a dense deposit of small, silver coins, she retrieved a bronze diadem forged in a shape to mimic waves with a pair of delicate chains looping down at the sides, each supporting a tear-shaped emerald the size of a finger tip.

“The owner was a the leader of a bandit gang who set up at one of the river crossings several summers back,” she explained to Jaune, “I watched them for a few weeks. She was a terrifying fighter. It was just mesmerizing watching her spar.” A conflicted look crossed Pyrrha's face. She knew the woman was a villain, but she'd sort of become attached while spying on the camp. “It didn't help her when they tried to ambush a caravan that included a powerful mage though. He shouted with a force so hard it threw her off the bridge. She was dead before she hit the water of course.”

Jaune made a face. “You took this off her?”

“Adventurers do that sort of thing all the time,” she said more quickly than she intended. After a polite cough, she added, “But yes, I did. It was magical and I didn't want the river to claim it.” She held the diadem up at eye level. “As it turns out, this was the source of her combat prowess. Some very powerful mental magic has recorded the martial skill of an extremely adept warrior. When you wear it, over time that skill transfers to you. The longer you wear it, the better you become. For obvious reasons, I never had reason to try it myself.”

She gave him a self-satisfied smirk before donning the diadem. The bronze shimmered as it shrank and molded itself to fit her head.

“Not that I doubt that you probably have one of every knife and sword ever here, but do you have the kind of weapons that thing trains you in?” Jaune asked.

Pyrrha nodded and reached down into the pile of silver coins again. “Actually, I thought to keep hers. They were very well made.” From the pile, she retrieved a pair of sheathed daggers with H-shaped cross handles; katars. “She called this one Speak and this one Listen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we go, no longer a one shot. I am still very concerned with characterization, but I'll give it until they're on the road before I really get over-worried about where they're going. I did try to anchor myself in the canon characters by playing around with doing things like giving Pyrrha her sash and diadem (every fic uses a different name for Pyrrha's headpiece, but this is the one I've found to be most accurate. The Wikipedia article even has a picture of two that have hanging ornaments like hers, one of which was even from Greece).
> 
> Milo and Akouo translate (I may have these mixed up) to 'Speak' and 'Listen'. Why did I switch a xiphos/spear and shield combo for katars? Mostly 'dragon'. I like the idea of giving her a more savage fighting style.
> 
> Jaune... feels like he's playing wallpaper for most of this chapter. Not really intended, but it does make sense seeing as he can't demonstrate his best powers without dropping the cave on them. He'll have more to do next chapter.


	3. End of Winter

After collecting the magical items to her name, Pyrrha had asked Jaune for a few moments to say goodbye to her home.

Seeing as how his filter air was starting to fade, he was more than happy to oblige, returning to the entrance. Stepping back into the cold from the sweltering heat of the lair nearly took his breath away as he emerged from the mouth of the cavern and climbed over the thick roots that obscured it from being noticed from below.

There, he found his cloak, hastily removed as he originally approached to give himself full freedom of movement in case he was both forced to fight and by some miracle survived the dragon's first strike. He hastily retrieved it and pulled it over his shoulders. Aside from his ancestor's sword and breastplate, the cloak was the finest thing he owned—and the only thing he could tell for sure was magical.

Yes, there were legends surrounding the sword, and family tales about the armor, but he'd never seen either of those doing anything more than failing to rust in practice. He'd been using the cloak as a blanket whenever he was out in the wilderness for the past two years and it objectively and observably retained his body heat and kept the cold from seeping through.

He'd won it at the Harvest Festival in his fifteenth autumn in a storytelling contest; the first and only time he'd ever won anything.

Luxuriating in the soft silk lining and his own reflected warmth, he hunkered down on one of the roots to wait.

Pyrrha's lair was just below the treeline, where the foliage was sparse—enough to keep her hidden, but not enough to hinder her when she went out hunting. Reaching it had been a bad time for Jaune, as the place hadn't been chosen for accessibility to those who couldn't fly. It had taken an hour's climb to reach, and now that Jaune could got a good look at the gauntlet of steep, sharp, snow-covered rocks, he was shocked he'd survived it.

A small gasp and the sound of something heavy thumping on the ground drew his attention back tot he mouth of the cave. Pyrrha stood there, her bag at her feet as she hugged herself against the cold.

“Are you okay?”

She met his eyes and opened her mouth to lie before seeming to think better of it. “I wasn't aware it was still Winter.”

Jaune nodded. That seemed to check out. Many of the stories he'd grown up with depicted dragons as supremely lazy, lounging about of days, weeks or even months at a time atop their hoards. As far as he knew, she'd slept the winter away. Maybe dragons hibernated like bears an woodchucks.

“Today is actually the second day of Spring. It just stays cold longer up here in the mountains.”

Gamely doing her best not to shiver, Pyrrha retrieved her bag and slung it over one shoulder. “I suppose it does. I try to make sure my food stores are enough so I never have to go out in... this.” Looking utterly miserable, she climbed over the roots toward Jaune.

After a moment's thought, he gave her a sympathetic look. “Oh... oh, this must be awful for you. It's like with lizards, right? The cold makes you slow down?”

His reward was a look of indignation. “I'm not sure if you're mocking me or not. Despite the scales, we aren't reptiles. In fact, a member of the White or Silver Nations would thrive in this—perhaps complain it's too warm. But I'm a creature of fire. It's in my soul, my blood. Cold isn't something I enjoy is all.”

Jaune bit his lip and cast his eyes back to the long trek down from the cave. “I've got a few extra changes of clothes back at camp. They won't fit well, but they should do.” He sighed and removed his cloak. Damn his own eyes, he knew she was a dragon, but she was in the shape of a person and no Arc would allow themselves to be snug and warm while a fellow person was as close to naked in the snow as possible.

“In the meantime...” He shrugged off the cloak and held it out to her. The cold air pressed in on him immediately. Now dressed in leathers, padding and a thin sheen of now-frozen sweat, he felt like he was going to die, but bolstered himself with the merry little flame of righteousness that he was doing the moral and proper thing.

Pyrrha's eyes darted from the proffered cloak to Jaune and back, no doubt taking notice of his discomfort. “I couldn't...” she said, doing her best to keep the hesitance and avarice out of her voice. Maybe some of that little magpie her brood mother always talked about wasn't quite dead in her.

“It's just until we get to my camp,” said Jaune, “And I'm not the creature of fire here, so I insist.” When she dithered again, he moved around behind her and draped the cloak over her shoulders himself. The difference was immediate for her as the cloak began to reflect her naturally high body heat back on her. Almost reflexively, she pulled it closed around her, humming a little as she did.

“T-thank you. Though you didn't have to.”

He had the ritual book out as he stepped away from her this time, flipping through pages looking for something in particular. “Yeah, I kind of did. Wouldn't have been right just leaving you to be cold.” After a few more pages, he found what he was looking for and knelt to start drawing a spell diagram in the snow.

A small frown marred Pyrrha's expression as she padded up behind him and peered over his shoulder. “What does it say of me then if I leave you to be cold?”

“That you aren't an Arc,” he replied, distracted. “Like I said, don't worry about me. I can live a few minutes in the cold.”

A quick glance showed Pyrrha a long, steep climb ahead of them. It certainly wouldn't take mere minutes. “I believe it will take us longer than that to reach your camp unless I transform again and fly us down.”

At this suggestion, he paused in his drawing, a complex circle in the snow left partially constructed. Looking up at her, a mix of emotions she couldn't read flashed in his eyes before he stopped and shook his head, turning his attention back to his work. “I wouldn't ask you to do that. It looked like it hurt the first time.”

“I'm told I'll get used to it eventually.”

Jaune finished drawing his diagram and fumbled around inside his armor until he came up with a small bag. From it, he took a pinch of glittering sand, which he sprinkled over the diagram. “If it's all the same to you? I'd rather not be the reason for someone else's pain if I can help it.”

His tone had grown more and more sober over the course of the conversation and even as much of a novice to basic interaction was Pyrrha was, she realized it was time to change the subject. “Hmm. So how far away is Lord Citraan's... manor? Fortress?”

“It used to be an outpost—a garrison for the forces holding the valley at Rygauld Pass. Lord Citraan calls it Castle Mayllon now.” Jaune pointed out over the valley below them. While they weren't high enough to see much more than the sea of trees covering the foothills of the mountains, Pyrrha could make up the break in them and the opposite mountain range beyond. “It's on the other side of the lake. Getting there's going to take almost two weeks no matter which way we go.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Two weeks out in the open?” Even larger dragons didn't just lollygag about in the open wilds. Some spirit beasts could and would best them in battle, not to mention enterprising gangs of monsters, bandits and powerful adventurers, not all of whom were an altruistic lot.

That earned her a a short, bitter laugh from Jaune. “We'll stay in towns when we can... but don't worry: woodcraft is the one thing I am good at.” He cut himself off right after saying that, hunching over the diagram and muttering. Pyrrha recognized the words as a dialect of the draconic tongue, one modified and bastardized by mortal spellcasters to create a scholar's language for magic called arcanis. The words she understood, but there was no syntax or structure, only concepts invoked in an authoritative tense.

“Void. Power. Become. Solidity. Motion. Self. Command.” The lines he'd drawn in the snow burst into white flame, which rushed away from the diagram to swirl in the space just over the edge of a boulder overlooking the drop down for Pyrrha's lair.

“Resolve.”

The swirling flames flattened out into a disc that roughly mimicked the shape of the diagram, but flickered and twisted chaotically in the air.

“Resolve.” Jaune ground the word out more forcefully, now holding both hands out to the nascent spell. The burning disc stopped rotating, but the flames still flickered in a blurry facsimile of the desired form.

“Resolve!” This time he actually shouted, the draconic word clear and powerful in the silent winter around them. Still the spell refused to fall into place. Jaune was breathing hard and staring at the silver fire with an expression bordering on desperation. He drew breath and then all but screamed. “Damn you to the inferno-- RESOLVE!”

Those last words were in the common trading tongue and issued forth from hims mouth with an odd vibration that Pyrrha could swear she felt reverberate in her chest.

The silver flames of the incomplete spell leapt into alignment, becoming crisp, smooth lines while the spaces between them seemed to crystallize into solid planes of tangible force.

A shuddering breath make Jaune's shoulders shake and he closed his eyes just for a moment. “Maybe I didn't follow the instructions perfectly,” he murmured before stowing both book and pouch back in his breastplate and getting to his feet. He turned to find Pyrrha regarding him with curiosity. “What?”

“I believe I should be asking the same question. What was that?”

“...A ritual? An elevating platform? It's so we don't have to climb all the way down by hand. I didn't use it to get up here because dragons can detect magic... I think.”

She waved that part off. “Only if it's bound into objects. But that isn't what I meant. Do did something at the end there...” she trailed off because he looked honestly confused. “...or maybe I was mistaken.”

They stood there for a moment that went on too long, giving each other odd looks until Jaune finally couldn't take it anymore. “We should go. The platform doesn't last more than ten minutes.” And that was that. The pair gingerly stepped off the jutting boulder and onto the conjured platform, which Jaune then caused to sink at a steady pace down to the forest floor.

While still chill, the towering evergreens offered some protection from the wind, making it more bearable at least. Jaune dismissed the platform and after taking a moment to find a mark blazed into one of the trees, led Pyrrha deeper into the wood.

They walked in silence for a time, Jaune seemingly focused on following his own trail back to camp while Pyrrha was mulling over his behavior back at the top of the cliff. She didn't think she'd said anything to offend, but something had clearly bothered him enough for him to affect a mask of stoicism that simply didn't suit him.

And then there was the ritual. Dragons didn't go in for ritual magic. Their mystical might was written into their souls such that all the mnemonics and incantations mortals used weren't necessary for them. All the same, she'd seen other rituals cast and had never seen one behave the way Jaune's had. A failed ritual failed and that all there was to it. They were either performed the right and proper way or they weren't barring direct interference from another. One couldn't just shout at it until it performed correctly.

Especially not shouts like that. She wasn't even sure it was magical: he hadn't tapped into anything as far as she knew and seemed to honestly not have noticed what he did. Accidental magic wasn't something that happened. It was a precise and conscious choice even for prodigies.

So what had happened?

“We're here.” Jaune's voice cut through her thoughts, drawing her attention to... nothing in particular. They'd come to a copse of younger trees that had sprung up in the wake of a much larger tree's demise. The splinted stump of the former jutted up from the scant few inches of snow cover with what was likely the fallen trunk forming a low rise nearby where it must have rolled.

All in all, it looked like a likely camp site, protected from the wind on all sides with the trunk forming a semi-defensible position in case of attack, but there was nothing there. Pyrrha was about to give voice to this concern when Jaune took one more step an faded from existence.

She froze, every sense going on high alert. Had all this been an elaborate trap? She hardly expected it of him, but humans were crafty and adaptable. Maybe he knew there was no way he could fight her on even footing and so planned all along to play on her sympathies and prioritizing Citraan over him.

What was unnerving was that he really did seem to be gone. As weak as her near-human senses were, she expected to still smell him considering he'd spent the better part of an hour in her lair while wearing bulky armor. But his scent was gone. There was no crunch of snow, now sound of breath. Even his footprints stopped exactly where he'd disappeared.

Then her worries turned to him. Maybe he wasn't betraying her and was instead the one in danger. There was no telling what a spirit beast might be capable of, or a mage, or even another dragon. Something could have wrapped him in an illusion or dragged him into a pocket world or...

Jaune faded back into being, brow knit in concern. “Are you alright?”

She just stared at him for a long moment as things clicked together. She'd seen this before. Adventurers usually set alarm spells like her own, or conjured hard barriers, but more than one merchant caravan she'd watched over the years chose the way of illusion. “A veil.” she said without thinking. “And a very powerful one too. It even blocks sound and smell.”

A small smile tugged at Jaune's lips. “My grandmother never did things halfway. This one isn't very big, but back in the War, they say she regularly cloaked entire encampments from spirit beasts and hailene patrols.” He gestured for him to follow him and, feeling relieved none of her dark thoughts had been realized, she followed him.

Stepping over the veil's threshold is much like what she imagined walking through a soap bubble must feel like. There was a slippery, yet clingy resistance that lasted just a moment before she was through and the clearing changed.

Where once was snow, the ground have been cleared down to bare earth and moss in a rough circle about fifteen feet across. At the center of the space, a neat circle of stones outlined a fire pit with a pile of sticks and logs at the ready to be lit and two metal poles thrust into the ground on either side with another set between them to support a pot over the fire.

On he far side of the clearing, butted up against the largest tree, was a modest canvas tent with a tarp unrolled to cover the damp, cold ground. Not far from that, a stake had been driven into the ground, providing a convenient place to tie a rope, which led to a leather collar resting around the neck of a large, flightless bird.

An ornis, if Pyrrha had to guess. The nearly horse-sized creature was hunkered down in the crevasse between two roots, its glossy black and brown plumage fluffed up in an effort to trap heat while its head neck was stretched out so as to allow its head with its heavy beak to rest on the ground.

She couldn't help it. Pyrrha's mouth started watering.

Jaune didn't miss this and gave her a suspicious look that might have been partially in jest. “Please don't eat my bird.”

“I wouldn't...” she started, but remembered her internal vow to be honest. “Alright, I was thinking about it, but I wouldn't do it. He is yours after all.” She wrung her hands and decided to focus on the fire pit. “It's just that they're my favorite and it looks so delicious—have you ever eaten one?”

Jaune nodded, striking off toward the tent as he spoke. Hi s tone was light again. “We raise the riding varieties, but the Keldon family—our neighbors, they raise the eating kind. I wouldn't want to eat Gasten here though. Putting something so evil and foul tempered in your body's bound to make you sick.”

He crawled into the tent, temporarily leaving Pyrrha alone to fantasize about swooping down on a fat, wild ornis, spraying it with burning gel, then settling in to wait was burning feathers cooked the flesh to perfection. Oh, she could practically smell it.

For the second or third time that day, Jaune interrupted her thoughts. She started realizing that he'd managed to come up beside her without her noticing. “I have a shirt and breeches you can wear. I try to keep at least one change of clothes for long trips. They'll be big on you, I think, but once we get to a town, we can get you something else.” He pressed a bundle of cloth into her arms. “They're better than just wearing an illusion at least.”

She offered him a small smile. “Thank you.”

He just nodded and started rifling through the worn, canvas knapsack he'd brought with him. “Hungry?”

“A bit.” she agreed. She'd already had a doe a day or two before, but she could eat.

“So you eat ornises. Ever had auroch?”

Pyrrha had to think about that. “The large cattle they grow in the valley?”

“The large cattle my family grows in the valley, yeah.”

“Once or twice. There's really little reward raiding domesticated animals and a great deal of risk.” She paused to try and remember the last time she'd caught a stray that escaped into the mountains from its paddock. “They are delicious though. Not as good as ornises, but few things are.” Her gaze started to drift back toward Gasten.

Retrieving a roll of oilcloth from his pack, Jaune unwrapped it to reveal several strips of what appeared to be stiff leather. “This will have to do until I have dinner going. I don't suppose dragons make jerky.”

She regarded the stuff with caution. It smelled good, but at the same time, it looked to have the consistency of a shoe. “No, I don't suppose we have.” Out of pure politeness, she took a strip and held it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger. It felt waxy, which was not something she looked for in a foodstuff.

“It's just dried meat.” Jaune assured her, picking up a piece himself and tearing off a chunk with his teeth.

Tentatively, Pyrrha did the same, chewing slowly. A burst of flavor from the jerky quickly dissolved all her hesitance. “Oh my, this is very good.”

“Glad you like it.” Jaune said with a genuine smile. “Dinner won't be anything special, sadly. We're too high up and it's still too cold to scrounge up most fresh things. I dug up a few wild tubers and bulbs to mix with the dry rations, so we'll see...”

By then, Pyrrha was gnawing on her jerky with a vengeance. Checking herself, she paused to give him a grateful nod. “I'm sure whatever you make, it will be grand. Thank you for sharing what you have with me. Once we reach a village, I can pay you back from the coin I'm bringing with me.”

Jaune rose, taking a moment to crack his back. “Don't worry about it. We're partners, right?”

It would have been hard to miss the spark of hope and purpose in his eyes. He had something to work for now and he wasn't going to give up easily.

“Indeed we are,” Pyrrha agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever seen Spice and Wolf? I just started that and I can already see I was already planning to go much in that direction with this. You know, with monsters and explosions instead of economics. Kind of a supernatural road trip with a heist at the end and maybe heists along the way—young dragons are part magpie after all.
> 
> Quick notes: aurochs are an real-life ancestor to cattle that went extinct via domestication and crossbreeding with other cattle. There is currently a project to breed them back into being. Ornises are based on the real-life prehistoric bird the gastornis and the less-recently extinct moa. Ere, in some of my more obscure author's notes on my site, is actually a preserve for creatures that faced extinction or dying worlds. Every race and monster except for native orcs, ogres, goblins and kobolds were brought there by gods to save them.
> 
> I'll leave what Jaune did up to interpretation. If you've read my original work in this setting, you might have some idea, but otherwise, suffice to say Jaune Did A Thing and doesn't know it. It's not that he's the special, it's more like he doesn't know his character class.
> 
> There's something about dragon!Pyrrha scarfing down jerky I find just adorable. I see Ere dragons, particularly young ones as part cat, part magpie, par teenager, so she's going to have a lot of these 'kitty' moments where she bounces from haughty to adorable. Which is starting to alleviate my worries about her being too far out of character. I see canon!Pyrrha as someone who is trying really hard to be a right and proper role model while really being kind of a dork in reality, so that's a trait I can play a lot with as here it's the Pride of Dragons vs the fact that dragon or not, they're still people and she's... well still a dork.
> 
> If I have a regret now, it would be making her red. I've already used red dragons so much in this setting. Maybe she could have been copper or bronze. Or black, those are the ones who have an innate curiosity. Oh well. If I ever convert this to an original story, I'll consider that.
> 
> Jaune still has his same deal as in canon, but its a bit harsher. On Ere, no he could NOT be a farmer or something. He is actually not enough of a badass to be a farmer on this world. From where he stands, he really doesn't fit anywhere and this is his last chance. We'll get more into that down the line.
> 
> People have asked, so I will say yes, this is a Romance, but a very slow burn like I typically like it. They're going to have to get over those 'tried to kill me' and 'is a two ton murder machine wearing a people suit' issues respectively. Though it's clear those aren't hard and fast hurdles since I already noted 'dragonsired' is a race in this setting. We'll probably meet one at some point.


	4. Dreams and Nocturnes

Dinner was a thick stew made by crumbling part of a rust-colored block Jaune assured Pyrrha was made from meat, fat, dry vegetables and spices pounded together to protect them from moisture into a pot of boiling water and adding some pieces of jerky. Slabs of hard travel bread and slices of waxy but delectable white cheese rounded out the meal alongside cups of water melted from the snow.

They started out eating silently, but Jaune couldn't seem to bear the quiet and soon tarted questioning Pyrrha about the accuracy of various stories he knew, which necessitated him telling her said stories. Most of them were wild exaggerations at best and it made Pyrrha's head spin that humans could twist their understanding of beings they fought side-by-side with in just three quarters of a century.

She in turn explained some basic truths (yes, a dragon's breath weapon was determined by their color, no they could not survive by eating gold and other minerals, no, they didn't have to eat virgins to grow larger) and then managed to move the conversation away from her species by telling a few stories she'd overheard while spying on travelers.

It didn't take very long for them to settle into comfortable and casual conversation about their favorite tales and why they liked them. Jaune, unsurprisingly, was partial to tales of gallant heroes doing battle with the forces of evil (he diplomatically picked out stories where those forces were demons or hailene or fey rather than dragons), while Pyrrha preferred stories where the day was won by guile and cleverness—and it didn't help if it involved a cheeky thief.

She eventually admitted to him that yes, most of the copper an silver from her hoard had been 'liberated' from camps that left their coin poorly guarded. How else was a young dragon supposed to build a hoard? Lend herself out as a firestarter?

Eventually, the sun was far gone behind the mountains and it was time to retire.

“It's not a very big tent, but if I shove the pack all the way to the back, we can both fit,” Jaune said, kneeling by the open tent flap. “But... I've only got the one bedroll...”

Pyrrha waved him off. “I will be fine. After all, I've slept mot nights of my life on a bed of blades and coins.”

“Yeah, while you had scales.” Jaune countered. “You've got flesh now, and the only thing between you and the cold, hard ground is going to be the tarp.”

“And my clothing,” she pointed out, unconsciously adjusting the collar of the homespun shirt Jaune had lent to her. The clothes were a better fit than they'd expected, but the shoulders and neck of the shirt were cavernous on her to the point that one side of the other was constantly trying to slide off her shoulder. “...your clothing.”

Shaking his head, Jaune tried again. “That's not really going to help. Trust me.”

“I'll be fine, Jaune. As I said before, you've been more than generous with your food and the use of your cloak. Don't put yourself out for my sake.” Deciding not to brook any further discussion, she crawled into the tent ahead of him and pushed the bedroll that was already there to one side, choosing instead to flop down on her stomach.

It took a lot of personal restraint not to squirm on the lumpy, cold earth that tarp barely protected her from, but she managed it, looking at him over her shoulder with as imperious a look she could muster. “See? I'll be fine.”

She folded her arms in front of her and rested her chin on them, staring at the pack in front of here, which had been joined by her own bag. Meanwhile, Jaune disappeared for several minutes, finally returning sans armor and crawling into the bedroll.

Pyrrha was about to say something to him when a familiar, warm weight settled over her. She twisted around to find that he'd thrown the heat-preserving cloak over her.

“You're the creature of fire here.” Jaune said, extinguishing the mage light that had been illuminating the tent until just then.

“Thank you.”

Pulling his thick winter blanket over himself, Jaune laid himself on his back,s taring at the roof of the tent in the dark. It baffled him that it was even possible for her to get cold seeing as even with the cloak thrown over her, she was still radiating warmth into the tent. “You're welcome.” He paused, thinking, “I didn't think about how we've got two people to feed now. We're going to have to make for a town as soon as possible if we don't want to go without food. Unfortunately, that means going to Sol Sadatta.”

“I take it there's something wrong with that town?” He looked over to find that he could vaguely see two green circles where he knew Pyrrha's eyes to be. The brightest flecks of green in her eyes were literally illuminated, it seemed.

“Something wrong with the hearts of the people if you ask me. They use dark anima like my grandmother did, but... worse.”

“How so?” the dragoness pressed.

He hesitated, not even liking describing the practices of Sol Sadatta. “They raise their dead and the dead of anyone that attacks the place and make their skeletons serve them. All the manual labor; the farming, the cleaning, the defense of the town... it's all done by the enslaved dead. The villagers say they all volunteered to be raised up that way, but that doesn't matter, it's an abomination.”

“I thought you were a worshiper of Denaii.” Pyrrha sounded sleepy.

“Well I am, but it doesn't mean we kick dirt in the faces of the other gods. Especially not Sylph. We are farmers, after all and we need her touch for a good harvest. Sol Sadatta uses the things she hates most to pluck her bounty—it's a wonder they have crops at all at this point.”

A yawn, and then, “We can bypass them if you want. I can hunt. Or I can got into the town alone if they bother you so much.”

He squinted at those green circles, which were disappearing and reappearing as their owner struggled to keep her eyes open. “They don't bother you?”

“I have no feelings one way or the other about the undead—except that they are disgusting.”

“Well ye... you're talking about disgusting to eat, aren't you?”

Pyrrha let out a soft, musical laugh. “I suppose every dragon makes the mistake of trying to eat a zombie one. But only once.”

It was that point that he realized she wasn't going to take him seriously on this matter. “Goodnight, Pyrrha.”

“Goodnight, Jaune.” she was asleep and snoring softly in seconds.

For his part, Jaune spent some time longer staring at the dark ceiling, trying no to think of shambling skeletons holding scythes or a horse-sized red dragon with a rotting human armed clutched in her teeth. Eventually, he passed into slumber as well.

RWBYRWBYRWBY

He opened his eyes to light.

No, more accurately, everything in the tent seemed to be glowing with its own inner light, which was more white than anything he'd ever laid eyes on. The tent itself, the tarp, the bedroll, his pack, Pyrrha's bag—everything glowed with its own brilliance without being blinding.

What was more, he seemed to be able to see every detail of them if he even so much as glimpsed them. He knew every stitch used to patch the tent, every scuff and scratch on the pack. Now that he thought of it, he knew the exact temperature of the air.

He was also aware of the soft hum that came from everything and seemed to resonate somewhere inside him that was deeper than mere organs like his heart.

Confused, he scrambled out of the bedroll and out of the tent.

The campsite was awash in light as well, with the wall of his veil almost opaque instead of invisible. Even Gasten was glowing. But the fire pit... the fire pit was a geyser of light and crackling energy the formed a pillar to the sky and beyond, somehow ten thousand times more brilliant than everything else, but still not blinding.

And running up it center, in almost shameful incongruity of the power and beauty of literally everything else in his world, Jaune spied a plain, white ribbon. It might have been silk or satin, but it lacked the glow of the rest of the world even as it fluttered gently at the heart of the pillar of light.

Somehow, Jaune found himself drawn toward that above everything else, stumbling from the tent to the fire, only stopping when he realized that the pillar of light extended downward as well, leading infinitely down into the heart of the world.

Even seeing that, however, couldn't distract him from the ribbon. A shaking hand extended out into the scintillating pillar and closed around the impossibly soft cloth. It felt like warmth on the emotional level, and joy and hope, and lightness he hadn't felts since he was a child. Belonging. The ribbon made him feel part of something, as if he mattered for the first time in his memory.

Before he knew it, the ribbon was coiled around his hand and up his arm. It pulled against him and suddenly he was falling through the world, falling in a shaft of silvery light that sang around him.

And it did sing. Not just the individual hums of everything around him before, but all of them—all the hums and songs and words of everything ever. All in harmony, becoming a oneness he hadn't imagined existed. Not just a song: the Song.

In his mind, a description formed. A single Word that could encompass the Song, could give meaning to the all above all. It formed and then fragmented, shattering apart in his mind even as he came to understand its importance if not its meaning.

The Word and the Song. They surrounded him in a nimbus, permeated his being and resonated with something already inside him. The ribbon became warm in his hand...

And Jaune woke up. It was like no awakening he'd ever experienced. He was dreaming one moment and then the next, his eyes opened and he was staring at the tent as illuminated by the first rays of the sun. He was refreshed and alert and there was no sign of grogginess or the aches of sleeping on a thin bedroll on the ground at all.

He sat up, noting he was alone in the tent.

Just how much of this had been a dream? Surely, everything glowing and humming was a dream, but did he really meet a dragon that transformed into a beautiful woman and agree to travel with her to rob Lord Citraan?

Or was he just waking up on what was probably going to be the last day of his life, about to try and face down a monster from nightmare armed with an antique magic sword whose enchantment he knew nothing about and a largely untested ability to sometimes get people to do little things he wanted?

One of those sounded insane and the other... well they were both insane.

He rose and crawled out of the tent. The first thing that greeted him was his magic cloak, folded neatly and laid out on a clear patch of ground with his spare clothed folded on top of it. Curious, seeing as he usually covered himself with the cloak at night and kept his spares in his pack unless he needed it.

Still puzzling over that, he looked toward the fire pit and found---a horrifying conflagration. Slender branches from several of the nearby trees seemed to have been ripped down and arranged in a large circle that spilled out of the fire pit and had been lit ablaze, forming a six-foot tall wall of flame that seemed to be contained by a rudimentary ritual.

Dumbstruck, Jaune approached the bonfire, wracking his brain as to where it had come from. When he was close enough to feel the intense heat and see through the flame to the center, he got his answer.

“Is that some one in... Gah!”

The previous day had not been a dream., though the current day might be. Because he was looking through a roaring fire at Pyrrha Nikos, curled up on her side with her hair fanned out around her, a serene, angelic look on her face—while sleeping nude in the heart of a fire.

He'd heard of salamanders, the little beast that lived and thrived in flames, and even the faint rumors that not flame ever conjured, even the legendary Azure Seed of Destruction could burn a red or gold dragon. But seeing it in person while said dragon was... or at least resembled a person was something entirely different.

His outburst didn't go unnoticed, however, and Pyrrha cracked an eye open, picking him out lazily beyond the flames before giving a yawn and stretch. “Good morning, Jaune.” she said as if she wasn't in the middle of a swirling hell-storm.

“G-good morning.” Jaune said, looking away as quickly as possible.

After staring at him in confusion for almost a full minute, Pyrrha deduced that he lack of attire might be the problem. “Oh, I'm sorry.” She gestured to conjure up her illusory clothing only to have nothing happen. “She blinked. “Um...”

“I-it's the fire.” Jaune replied, having observed from the corner of his eye.

“Hmm?”

“A sight illusion uses akua to turn water vapor in the air into tiny prisms and mirrors to alter light. B-but in a fire, there's no water vapor and barely and akua. So... illusions fail.”

Pyrrha ducked her head in embarrassment. She knew that, but then again, she'd just woke up, so she really shouldn't be blamed. “Oh. Well then...” She let out a long exhale through her mouth and then breathed in deeply through her nose. The flames wavered, then all rushed toward her, drawn into her nostrils in an impressive reverse of the typical dragon/fire interaction.

The fire leapt from the logs along with streamers of rippling air as the very heat itself was torn away. Soon the fire was out and in place of glowing embers, frost was forming on the charred wood.

Jaune gawked openly now, but not at what he'd been afraid to gawk at earlier. “Was that a heat stealer?”

“Yes it was. Just because I specialize in ferif spells doesn't mean I don't also know how to play with my native fire.” Pyrrha pointed out, casting her illusion successfully this time. Stepping over the frozen remnants of her bonfire, she greeted him with a bright smile. “Now then: good morning again. Did you sleep well?”

“I... woke up feeling really good actually.” he said, still staring at the fire pit. Had she already built that fire when he dreamed of it being a tunnel of light?

“That's nice to hear,” she said, walking past him. “I... well you were right about the tarp. It didn't keep the cold from coming up from the ground, and your cloak could only do so much.”

“We need to get you blankets as soon as possible then,” Jaune reasoned, gesturing to the fire pit. “We can't do that every night. Not just because we'd strip the entire forest, but because my veil? It only goes up about thirty feet.”

Pyrrha was already dragging his pack out of the tent, keenly searching for more jerky. “I can make due, I promise. We don't have to go to that town if you would rather not.”

“It's not a question of what I want, it's what we need.” Jaune said soberly as he knelt with her and started unpacking supplies for breakfast, namely a bag of ground wheat for porridge, some dried fruits, and jerky, which Pyrrha eagerly snatched from him. “First order of business of course, is getting off this mountain. From there... I suppose we cross Horth's Bridge and make for The Town the Dead Serve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm now up to episode six of Spice and Wolf and it's kind of maddening how close my concept for this story looks like that show. It also makes me wish I gave Pyrrha ears. Sad Holo is adorable.
> 
> We're almost off the mountain, I swear. Jut one action set-piece and we're home free.
> 
> Sol Sadatta is... well I'll talk more about it when we get to it, but it's one of my major problems with D&D and related fiction. Let's just say it was a conscious decision to make this one of the things they don't agree on. Also, being nasty to eat is honestly the only way zombies work. Though I hate zombies as a monster, so I'd be okay watching a horde being ripped apart by flocks of vultures and ravens while insects and bacteria turn them to immobile bags of goo within a week.
> 
> It also gives me an excuse to introduce a little of Ere's religion. Jaune worships a pantheon, Pyrrha... dragons a complicated. They were straight up servants of the gods before screwing up and now some of them maintain literal cults of personality. So the know objectively that the gods are there, but out of shame or arrogance, they don't worship. Not shown here, but there are small gods, because the world is leaking soul-stuff and believing hard enough can just make a god. Because I'm a Discworld fan and turning that idea serious appeals to me.
> 
> And then there's the dream. Speculate away, O readers of mine. You guys usually come up with interesting theories.
> 
> Also, I finally remembered why I made her red! Because fireproof. Also, there is nothing more badass then taking a nap in the center of a raging fire. Also, Pyrrha gets to show off another aspect of the magic system: cold spells are based on ripping the heat out of things sort of like in the Dresden Files.


	5. Last Days of the Hunter

“Power of earth and stone; solid body with a hollow heart. I conjure thee into the ground below to do as I bid. And thou shall by my command: Sink.”

Jaune was in a crouch about twenty paces from the remains of the fire pit with his hand thrust into the snow so as to make contact with the earth, palm pressed flush to it with the fingers facing his body. On the last word, he twisted his palm around a full one-hundred and eighty degrees so they were pointing toward the fire pit.

The earth magic to create an instant pit was common enough, as was the practice of using it to bury the remains of campsites. So much so, that even Pyrrha had seen it used dozens of times. To that end, she wasn't paying a great deal of attention, instead doing her part to break camp by folding up the tent and wrapping it, the cooking kit and the bed roll into a neat parcel that could be hung from Gasten's saddle.

So it was understandable that she dropped all that when, instead of quietly sinking into a deep hole like every other instant pit or sink spell, Jaune's essentially exploded from beneath the piled branches in an eruption of dirt and snow, the earth where the pit should form violently vacating until there was nothing left beneath the branches but empty air that they tumbled through to the bottom of the now empty hole.

Thereafter, a steady hail of icy mud pattered down around them for a good ten seconds.

“What... was that?”

Jaune coughed nervously into his fist, having placed himself in a spot where the bulk of his spell's byproduct blew away from him. “Yeah, that's not how that spell works... for everyone else buy me.”

He didn't seem to be laughing inwardly over some joke, so Pyrrha merely raised an eyebrow while starting to re-gather the dropped camping equipment. “Then you didn't do that on purpose?”

Giving a shake of his head, Jaune moved to help her pack things away. “No. Some of my spells just don't work right. For example, if I try to cast a basic fireball, it acts like a heat stealer and pulls heat from the surroundings to form the ball. If I'm not careful, It's still a ball of fire I can throw, but if I'm not careful, I can give myself frostbite.”

“I've honestly never heard of something like that.” Pyrrha said, puzzled. Miscasting non-rituals was rare except in places with unusual concentrations of certain energies or other anomalies.

As if reading her mind, he shrugged and said, “Neither have I. There's just something wrong with me. I also can't cast anything without saying a whole mnemonic for it out loud.”

This made her even more confused. Mnemonics were used to help a mage form energy into the necessary patterns to bring a spell into being. Newly learned, this was usually a phrase accompanied by hand movements. As the mage become more used to casting the spell, they could truncate the phrase to little more than the name of said spell or something similar, and reduce the movements to a gesture. Only a neophyte mage had to say the whole thing every time. In fact...

“Dragons don't need to use mnemonics at all; with our incredible capacity for magic, when we fully realize a spell, the patterns etch themselves into our very being.” The words came out before she could realize just how unhelpful they were. She clamped her mouth shut behind them, looking down in shame. “I'm sorry. I--”

Jaune waved the apology off. “It's okay. Could be worse. Randoel, the carpenter in our village, has a daughter who was born without any magic at all. Can't summon up so much as a spark or a breeze. I think it made her a little odd in the head too—sometimes when I'm over there, I catch her talking to people who aren't there.”

He let out a bitter little chuckle. “She's about the age this year that her family could send her up on the block at the Planter's Festival. Even she'd probably get a better offer than...” he cut off, at that and went at his work with an intensity that told Pyrrha more conversation was not an option at the moment.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the pair as they finished packing up all the kit and Jaune secured it to Gasten's saddles. It was only broken when Jaune half-heartedly gestured as if to offer her a hand up into the large bird's saddle. Gasten himself obviously sensed the predator within and rolled his eyes, clacking his beak defensively the moment she got too near.

She shook her head without any avian prompting. “No, that's fine. I'm sure I can keep pace at least until we're off the mountain.”

Rather than reply, Jaune just ducked his head, gathered the ornis's reins, and started leading him east, pausing only briefly to dispel his veil. Pyrrha trotted behind him, feeling guilty for putting them in a tense position. “I... may I ask why you aren't riding?”

There was a long pause, long enough that she wondered if he were weighing the value of replying to her. But then he shook his head as if coming out of a daze. “Hmm? Oh... uh, the snow. Ornises aren't used to this climate; they come from warm plains and rainforests. They get really nervous in the snow and move at a crawl unless you lead them.”

“Oh,” was all Pyrrha had to offer. She'd never thought of the care and feeding of her prey, but it did explain how ornises were so easy to catch if caught alone on the mountain.

“Yeah.” Jaune returned to silence, which as the traveled, started itching at Pyrrha. She's only known him for a day, but she could already tell this was unusual and somehow partially her fault. Tenacity was something she would claim to be one of her virtues, however, so she didn't let it last very long.

“So,” She said, trying unsuccessfully to work the awkwardness out of her voice. Her human form was proving to be disastrously difficult to conceal emotion in. “... I brought every silver coin I own with me and a great deal of copper. By my count, I have just shy of five hundred silver. To thank you for your hospitality so far, I thought I might buy you something when we reach a town. What would you like?”

Once again, Jaune seemed to snap out of his thoughts. “You really don't have to buy me anything. This is your plan and if it goes well, it will help my family—that's enough.”

“For you perhaps, but what about me?” She was pressing now purely to keep the conversation going, putting on an exaggerated pout. “I have a debt I feel I must repay. Plus, I need to act the part of the fair maiden rescued from a fiendish dragon. If I have wealth, it would be strange if I weren't generous to you.” Her first thought had been that if their story were real, she would have handed over her wealth to him in the first place. But thousands of years of proud draconic blood refused flat out to hand over her entire hoard. She'd give him her wings first.

After a moment, Jaune slowly turned his head to give her an odd look. “This... character you're building,” he sounded like someone putting the last pieces of a puzzle together. “Pyrrha Nikos... from a country called Nikosia. A beautiful adventuress who also happens to be wealthy... who needed to be saved by a monster and in doing so, essentially gifts herself to her rescuer.” his eyes narrowed. “I know this story.”

She chuckled lightly, hiding her mouth behind the back of her hand and looked off into the forest. The trees were still widely spaced, but were becoming more numerous with deciduous species now mingling with the evergreens. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I've read this story a hundred times and seen the play at least enough time to count on two hands.” Jaune continued, mock irritation in his voice. “And you've cast yourself as a princess!”

She rolled her hand on her wrist while still avoiding his gaze. “Princess, daughter of wealthy merchants, bandit queen... I never meant to flesh out all my alleged circumstances. I believe avoiding 'dragon-in-disguise' will suffice.”

Jaune scrubbed the hand not tending Gasten's reins through his hair. “Once a traveling troupe did a puppet and clockwork show where she was a spirit beast in disguise. I think some sort of wolf... It was actually quite good.”

Happy to see him returning to what she at least considered normal for him, Pyrrha went with it. “Interesting. When I was much smaller, I hid under the cart of a group who had a bard—one of the real ones with power—and he once said to his traveling companions that stories hold power because they're what we want to believe. He said that the trick to any lie is to tell one people want more than anything to believe.”

“Huh. So since people want for that sort of thing to happen—the dashing hero rescuing a princess or something like one—it's easier to tell them that, than that you're a random adventurer who's sworn a life debt.” While he was reaching this conclusion, Gasten started tugging at the reins, shying away from their current path. He reached up and rubbed the side of the ornis's head, muttering gentle words in an effort to calm him.

Once this was done, he turned back to Pyrrha. “You've put a lot of thought into...”

He trailed off, much to Pyrrha's confusion. It only took her a second to notice what he had: the silence. Not between them, but in the forest. The utter, perfect silence. As if everything in the area was holding its breath. She recognized it because it often preceded her own arrival.

A predator was ahunt.

They kept moving, their heads on a swivel as they tried to pin point the danger. Eventually, Jaune spotted it, directing Pyrrha's vision behind them to the north northwest. Distance and a light mist of sublimating snow and frost hid it better than the mammoth trunks of the trees, but they could pick out the outline of its body: A strong, bipedal stature with a pair of thick, powerful legs holding up a nearly horizontal body where a long, stiff tail counterbalanced a huge, box head. The small but mighty forearms were barely visible from that distance.

“Treeline stalker.” Jaune muttered, “my books back at home call it an ospreshrike. Depending on the exact type, it's the largest mortal predator in the world. Stronger than most spirit beasts.”

“I have encountered them.” Pyrrha replied tightly, “and heard stories besides. Aren't we meant to stand still?”

Jaune shook his head vigorously. “Absolutely not. You know why so many people have stories where they think they lived because they stood still? It's because they're tasty, tasty horses ran and got eaten while they were humans or elves or something that are comparatively less worth hunting.”

“Then... we're safe because of Gasten?” Pyrrha asked.

“I'd rather he not be eaten.”

“I... could resume my true form and fight it that way.” She did not sound sure about that plan, but offered it anyway. Gasten started to croon in complaint, making Pyrrha wonder how Jaune managed to calm him down the first time.

“You're only a third its size most likely.” Jaune looked around, hoping to find someplace to hide. There was really nothing but a downward slope and dozens of gargantuan trees, all of whom sent their roots deep, leaving very few if any to take cover behind A quick glance back at the beast revealed that it was drifting closer, drawn by the ornis's panicked sounds.

Now it was close enough that he could roughly judge relative size. The thing was half gain as tall as he was at the shoulder. Details also came into view: the soft, downy, off-white feathers along its sides and belly, the metallic blue along its back, mixing to green and purples in the twin crests rising from the center of its snout to above its eye ridges. Its ribs were vaguely visible beneath its feathered sides.

Long, lonely days studying books on the lands of the valley and the creatures within reward Jaune with renewed fear. What he saw told the tale: this was a very old bull ospreshrike, likely driven form its normal hunting grounds by a younger contender or a new, more dangerous apex predator entering the scene. Slowing in his old age and desperate, he would even risk wandering into the territory of a dragon.

These were its last days. He would not go easily.

There was woefully little to work with. Story of Jaune's life, really. But that had taught him to make the most of what he had. A plan started to form. What his plan lacked in psychology and subtlety compared to Pyrrha's engineered princess scheme, it made up for it in spontaneity and sheer destruction.

Again, story of his life.

“Get on Gasten.” he commanded.

“Jaune, I really don't think...” she started.

“All our kit is with him.” he explained quickly, “Someone needs to stay with him so we don't lose him in the forest or we'll die from exposure anyway.”

Pyrrha still didn't budge, even as Gasten started to croon and dance nervously in the snow. “Then why not you? You can ride him away just as easily as I can.”

An answer immediately came to mind of Jaune, but he wasn't going to share that with her. Instead, he replaced that morbid thought with, “I've got a plan, okay? Woodcraft is something I'm good at. Just... just meet me at the bottom of the mountain. We're not that far now—the road starts there and there's a stone house not far along it. Be there.”

He didn't brook anymore argument, turning away from her to gauge the ospreshrike's location again. It was edging closer, unaware that it had been spotted and cautious not to spook them. The second one of them ran, it would give chase. It had too.

These were its last days. But it still hungered.

Behind him, Gasten complained loudly as Pyrrha pulled herself into the saddle. Whether she was giving him her trust or cutting her losses, he couldn't tell. For now, he needed to concentrate on his plan.

First order of business was controlling the situation. He needed to make sure the huge predator ended up in the right place at the right time. The trees were too big and too well-spaced to offer much of an obstacle, so he needed to make his own. Fortunately, earth magics were his specialty.

He waited until Pyrrha got Gasten moving to start speaking the mnemonic. As he did, he dropped into a crouch, both hands pressing down through the snow to contact the ground. “Ancient and unmoving, that which holds us up and gives us substance. Heed my now and by my command: Rise.”

Slightly less dramatic than the instant pit, the stone pillar caused a fist of stone and earth to erupt from the ground between two trees, kicking snow into the air while also closing off one avenue of attack to the ospreshrike. Jaune repeated the incantation twice more, each time adding to the cordon he was creating.

The great, old beast hadn't missed this either, huge head swinging around to track every movement whenever a new pillar exploded into the sky. But at no point did it lose sight of its prey, and all the added noise combined with the scent of two predators finally shattered Gasten's resolve. The ornis let out a terrified call and broke into a run.

So did the ospreshrike, loosing an earth-shaking bellow as it charged for the only opening left to it.

These were its last days. And it would go out with a mighty roar.

The moment he hear Gasten cry out, Jaune started running too. Once a treeline stalker committed to a charge, it would move in a straight line at speed, so now he knew where it would be in a few moments. He just had to be there first.

“Power of earth and stone;” he started, boots crunching in the snow. Both that and his words were stolen by the booming footfalls of the titanic monster behind him. He pushed all instinct to look behind him out of his head as he locked his gaze on the spot he needed to target. “Solid body with a hollow heart.” Almost there. Vaguely, he heard Gasten let out another call and what might have been cursing in the tongue of dragons. “I conjure thee into the ground below to do as I bid.”

Story of his life, his foot hit an icy patch and his feet flew out from under him, sending him tumbling along the ground, the downward slope of the mountain and slick snow making sure he continued to fall a good, long while. Intellectually, he knew that his best hope was to ragdoll and hope nothing broke. But he couldn't lose his spell, couldn't even allow it to be delayed. The ospreshrike didn't give a damn about him, it was after Gasten and Pyrrha was on Gasten. He'd come to the mountain knowing he was likely throwing his life away, but he wasn't about to let that happen to someone else, even a dragon.

Weak as he was, ineffectual as he was; as much of a shock as it came to everyone he wasn't dead yet given how the world seemed to be engineered to destroy better men and women than he, he was still and Arc, damn it. And if there was anything that name stood for, it was protecting people. There was a small, leather bound book currently stabbing its corner into his sternum that served as proof how far they'd go to do that.

Flexing his spine for all it was worth, he threw himself around so he was on his belly, sliding feet-first down the side of the mountain. There was no chance he'd be able to spot a tree before slamming into it, but he needed to keep his target in sight. “ And thou shall by my command:”

Against every ounce of better judgment screaming at him not to, he slammed his hand into the ground. Dozens of small rocks seemed to leap at the chance to slash into his palm, eager to show him the folly of his ways. Still, he kept in contact with the earth just long enough to utter, “Sink,” before rolling over and going limp to preserve what was left of his survival.

He heard the explosion as his unique version of the spell violently excavated a ten cubic foot space under one of the larger trees, leaving roots hanging in empty air. Gravity did the rest and the towering, primeval elm came crashing to earth into the ospreshirke's path.

...Which wasn't Jaune's intention. He'd been hoping to time things so the tree landed on the monster, crushing it. On the other hand, it was more difficult to stop seven tons of feathered fury than one would imagine, especially not on settled snow. The beast tried to leap over it, putting powerful leg muscles to good use, but it was too late and its knees clipped the tree, sending it into an uncontrolled roll that shook the mountainside.

Its great mass kept it from tumbling for nearly as long as Jaune had, but nonetheless, it found itself in a heap almost fifty yards from the fallen tree.

Jaune, whose own fall had ended in a stand of bushes some thirty yards further down, could only lie there on his side, feeling the ache in his ribs and burning agony in his torn hand. He watched the ospreshrike, praying to Denaii that the creature wouldn't rise again. He thought he'd heard a snap, but that could have been one of the many, many limbs that broke when the tree came down.

His hopes died as the old bull pushed himself up with his tiny arms and rose to his full height. Though having obvious trouble breathing, he still managed to growl menacingly as he turned his head to survey the mountainside. His predatory gaze fell upon Jaune. Not much of a meal, but some food was better than no food.

Before he could make a move, however, green flames exploded in a wall between the two, crackling and twisting into terrifying demonic faces.

No animal of the forest had any love of fire. It was the certain death, the loss of territory and habitat. The old bull had had more than enough of that in his life, much less recently. Maybe earlier when a better prey had been in evidence, but for the tiny, squirming thing before him and with the injuries he'd taken... he couldn't force himself further.

A loud snort turned to a pair of white plumes in the cold air as the old ospreshrike turned away. A broken rib pressed painfully into his ribs as he strode back the way he'd come on a sprained ankle. When he was younger, more well-fed, that injury would heal up soon enough. Now, he was starving and without the ability to run down prey, he might not get the opportunity to eat again.

These were its last days. Better to fade into the forest than die in flames.

Jaune watched the predator take its leave, shocked that yet again he'd faced annihilation only to somehow survive. 'Somehow'. He recognized those flames. Soon enough, they faded, having been nothing but foxfire in the first place.

“Jaune?” A light grip caught his arm and shook him lightly. “Are you alright?”

“No.” he groaned truthfully. “But I can heal this.” With great pain, he turned his head to stare into brilliant green eyes. “Thank you for coming back for me.”

She smiled down at him. “As if there was any other choice to make.” she waited a beat and then gave him a teasing smile. “My plan falls apart very quickly if you died after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Spin you stupid animal! Spin until you are dead!” / “I killed a lion!” ~None Piece
> 
> So yeah, Jaune managed to wreck a mothf**kin' T-rex's (a biologically accurate T-rex with feathers) shit with basic spells. Sure, he would have been eaten for his troubles, but like they say: slow starvation is the best revenge. Tactical superiority: check. Actual skill: Nope. Yeah, that's our Jaune.
> 
> Yes, I gave the Rex character development. This chapter was inspired by and apes the Magic: the Gathering 'armodon' cards, all of which discuss the impending extinction of those proud animals, prefacing it with 'These are its last days'.
> 
> I just finished Season 2 of Spice and Wolf and I'm in love with the series now. Like I said, I didn't start the series until I planned out NYSG, but it really strikes me how alike my approach to relationships and romance and the creator of S&W's line up. It's also a little depressing how little media features actual maturely written relationships. It's something I strive to do and for the longest time feared might be why I'm not exactly hitting the mainstream.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> The way Jaune casts spells is a clue to his actual 'class'. I'll stress that it's not chaos/wild sorcerer. For those of you who know your D&D 3e+, he's unable to omit the verbal component of any of this spells and probably doesn't actually have any of the spells he's cast so far on his list.
> 
> I'm getting more comfortable with this portrayal of Pyrrha. She's slowly moving more toward her canon personality with the understanding that she's been actually alone for decades with her only outlet being spying on adventurers and merchants. She's still coming from a place of isolation, but here it's something she didn't know she disliked until offered an alternative.


	6. Welcome to Sol Sodatta

Jaune flexed his formerly injured hand into a fist, doing his best to limber up the freshly healed tendons.

“I shouldn't have left you back there.” Pyrrha said softly, her voice carrying only thanks to the cold, calm air. She was lagging slightly behind him, lazily leading Gasten by his reigns. “Does it still hurt?”

“No,” he lied. There was still phantom pain, but only the the faint burning of a skinned palm instead of the sharp aches of strained tendons and compressed joints. They would fade soon enough, so he saw no point in worrying her over it. “It's just a little stiff is all. It's my own fool fault for slipping at the crucial moment anyway.”

They crunched along in silence for a while, before, “You were almost eaten because I left you.”

“Because I told you to leave me. Besides, you and your sash saved my life. Thank you, by the way.” The ground had leveled out and his mind was barely on Pyrrha's woes at the moment. He was too busy picking out groups of trees and jutting stones he recognized to keep them on the right track.

Another period of silence. He really hoped she would get over it. Things like that happened all the time with or without her. To him. They happened to him. Freak accidents, monster attacks, foul weather and general misfortune. Doom and failure clung to him like a second skin and yet never seemed to manage to kill him or even lay him up for any period of time.

Of course he didn't tell her that. No one ever believed it.

“Hmm.” Not that he could really tell from just a syllable, but Pyrrha sounded less guilt-ridden. He glanced back and almost tripped over his feet to discover that the dragoness , still leading the ornery riding bird, had managed to sidle up almost shoulder to shoulder with him.

Her eyes sparkled merrily at his reaction. “Does this mean you owe me a life debt then?”

His lips twitched. “We don't do that here in the valley. Lucky for me, or you would have to wait in line.”

“Hmph. I wouldn't have done it if I thought I wouldn't get a reward,” she teased.

Temporarily snapping out of his distraction, Jaune directed his attention on the ground beneath them. The snow was still crunching under their feet, but it was a different sort of crunch, with less of the telltale texture lent to the sound by frigid leaves and grass.

Holding up a hand to signal Pyrrha to stop, he knelt and brushed the snow aside with his formerly hurt hand, glad to have some soothing cold seep through the torn glove. Beneath the scant inch of snow, he turned up stone. Not just natural rock either, but a rectangular, regularly textured slab of stone that could have only been the product of magical shaping.

They'd found the terminus of the Greyborn's Pass Road.

He flashed a grin to his traveling companion. “How does a warm, safe place to sleep for the night sound as a reward? With fresh food and maybe even a bath?”

Most of what he'd said piqued Pyrrha's interest, but worry crossed her features at 'bath'. “In my experience, the only purpose a bath serves is to give thieves a chance to take your unguarded possessions.”

It was actually hard for him to tell if she was joking. “From what you've told me, you were the thief in nearly all those situations,” he pointed out with narrowed eyes.

“Not 'nearly', 'precisely' all.” she said with a sage nod as they started walking again. “How do you think I've become such an expert in the perils of the practice?”

He still couldn't tell. “I'll guard your things for you. But do you mean to tell me dragons don't bathe?”

She shrugged. “We have scales and don't sweat. I take regular dust baths when the weather's dry, and enjoy a roll in lava if I can manage such without being chased off by a larger, stronger dragon. Did you happen to see the lovely bronze patterns on my scales? They're quite hard to do you know. You have to lay out the metal on a lava flow, then lie on top of it until it melts and coats the scales.”

So dragons tattooed themselves with molten metal. Jaune really had no response to that revelation. “I... didn't really get a good look in the cave.” he replied lamely but truthfully. It was hard to really pick out decorative patterns in a smoke-filled hole while facing down nature's perfect predator.

Luckily for him, they came around a bend in the road and into view of the stone house. He let out a triumphant laugh. “Ah, there it is!”

Pyrrha gave both him and it a quizzical looked, wondering what was so special. It was a blockhouse made from dull, gray stone perhaps twice the size of her cozy little cave. The only ornamentation was a thick wooden door with an irregularly shaped dice carved into it. Weeds were starting to poke up through the snow around it, indicating it probably hadn't seen habitation in a long while.

Taking note of her silence, Jaune looked back at her. “You... have heard of halfling caravans, right?”

“The nir-lomos?” She asked, ducking her head. “I've seen them from a distance. They keep wolves as mounts and pets, so it's difficult to get close without being noticed.”

“Right,” Jaune nodded, “Well they build these houses along their routes to store their excess food and other goods when they have good fortune trading or have a better than usual hunt. It's their way of honoring Pandemos.” He wrapped a knuckle against the symbol of the twelve-sided dice. Die of all types were sacred to the God of Luck and Revelry, for he was also called the One Dice Rolling in many traditions.

“In general, they're meant for other caravans in need, but any travelers who have a want are welcome to take what they need. All they ask is that if you ever come across a stone house when you have plenty, that you leave something as well.”

Pyrrha smiled fondly at the concept. “How generous. I suppose it would only be right to leave some coin before we move on.”

“I'm sure they'd appreciate it,” said Jaune, moving to take the reins from her. “Go on in, I'll get Gasten situated out here with a veil and something to eat and meet you inside, okay?”

She agreed and after seeing him off, pulled the door open.

The first thing that greeted her was warmth to contrast the cold of the outdoors. A fire was already lit in the fireplace, a softly glowing magic circle lazily orbited it, indicating the presence of a powerful ritual set in place to keep the fire burning for months, possibly years on end without maintenance.

Most of the interior was open, stone-tiled floor, with a low, halfling-sized table in the center surrounded by chairs built for the same. A low counter dominated the walls flanking the fireplace, one of which contained two more magic circles stacked on top of one another: one from which a continual stream of water fell and another directly below it into which the water disappeared.

She'd never thought of the halflings as a very magically adept people, as she never saw them bring any mystic might to bear in their hunts like other mortal adventurers or caravaneers did, but this was swiftly altering her perceptions.

The far wall featured recesses and cubbies of various sizes containing containers from barrels to bags to carved wooden boxes. It wasn't hard to guess this was where the bounty of successful caravans was stored. There was magic permeating that space too. When she moved closer to it, her stomach started to churn in agitation and a vague feeling of dread draped over her like a wet cloak. Telltale signs of nekras. As uncomfortable as it was to be around, the dark side of anima was useful in it ability to kill disease, halt rot, and in general preserve food from anything but exposure to light and air. Things stored in those niches might be years old, but still as good to eat as they day they were brought in.

Slowly, she turned to the wall opposite the fireplace, well aware that she'd been avoiding it.

Dragons had a complicated relationship with the gods of the Vishnari Pantheon. Their ancestors had been brought to Ere by those gods to shepherd and protect the mortal races. Given that divine trust, they had squandered it, instead enslaving demihumanity for their own vanity and sloth. After more than a thousand years of Draconic Control, the mortals threw down their oppressors and forced the dragons to flee into the wild places of the world, beaten and ashamed.

But the worst thing for the dragons was that the divine retribution for what they'd done... never came. Generations had been born and died knowing there was a deific sword looming over their heads for the sins of their sires and dams. It was made even worse when, only five years int Pyrrha's lifetime, the goddess Dey had very pointedly annihilated the hailene homeland for their atrocity.

Every dragon knew they deserved punishment from the gods, that it would come down eventually. Pyrrhanykos was no exception.

Her eyes locked on the shrine to Pandemos the nir-lomos had erected. It was a sandstone rendition of a gigantic wine cup as tall as her waist with a hundred-sided dice suspended by magic above it, sitting atop a dais that was slightly concave. Probably generations of halflings had filled the dais with all manner of dice: some molded from clay, some carved from bone or wood, others chiseled from rock and crystal and others forged from metal. In all numbers of sides and sizes, they sat as a symbol of the reverence the halfings, who traveled a world where living outside of walls meant the constant threat of death, had for their patron, who gave to hem luck and joy.

What really caught her attention was the inscription along the lip of the wine cup. It had been carved with incredible care in the precise, narrow script of the halfling language. She didn't know what it said, but she did know it had been created with the utmost devotion by someone who knew beyond doubt that there was a god somewhere who cared for them. Something no dragon had the right to believe any more.

“I am sorry,” Pyrrha murmured in the tongue of dragons, head bowed so her hair hid the shrine from her gaze, “For what we did.” Her brood mother never sugar-coated her tales of the horrors their people had enacted during Draconic Control. The Red Nation was one of the worst during that time, alongside Gold and Silver and White. All the stories of dragons eating humans? They were mostly from Red Nation leaders making examples, often demanding sacrifices of their mortal lieutenants' children.

“You know, I love how none of the shrines in any of the stone houses in the valley look the same.” Jaune closed the door behind him, Gasten's saddlebags slung over one shoulder. “Even the inscriptions are totally unique.”

It didn't seem like he'd heard or seen her little moment, so Pyrrha took a deep breath and straightened up once again, forcing a smile. “Really? What does this one say?”

Jaune sat the bags down next to the door and came to stand beside her, leaning forward to read the inscription. “'Drink deep, sing loud, live free, love forever.' Only, in halfling it rhymes.”

“Good advice regardless.”

“Pandemos's teachings are all like that.” He shrugged, moving away, “But his brother Denaii is the one who keeps society running. If we all drank deep, who would grow the food.”

Pyrrha followed him, a contemplative look on her face. “The nir-lomos seem to be doing well enough.”

“They buy their grain and beef from my family though. So they can life a Pandemian life thanks to the good folks who follow Denaii.” He meshed his fingers together. “You need the whole Pantheon even if you focus on just one. Denaii gives us out tasks, Pandemos makes them worth doing. Sylph provides the beasts and the plants, Hessa, her light and warmth, Justicar ensures all things are in balance, and Dodgregaar allows us to continue on through our family lines.”

“What about Dey?”

Jaune grunted. “She's... important too.”

Dey was the goddess of Duty, Pragmatism and Survival, but in many places, including much of the valley, she was known as the Goddess of Evil for how more than a few of her followers used her philosophy of doing what was needed to be done to survive in order to justify theft, murder and any crime in between. In Jaune's case, it didn't help matters that she was the deity most revered in Sol Sadatta.

“Right...” Pyrrha said in a prodding tone, but didn't go any farther. Instead, she took in the whole of the room once more. “Then we shall spend the rest of the day here?” The sun was still several hours from setting and being on the road meant they could have made significant progress if they pressed on. Not that she was in any particular hurry; the journey was proving to be interesting all on its own.

They set about making 'camp', which amounted to setting a camp stove over the fire and an iron griddle (helpfully left behind by a previous traveler) in front of it. Jaune put together a comparatively luxurious dinner of quick bread and fries fish with grilled fall vegetables on the side.

As they ate, Jaune told Pyrrha a bit about his village, while Pyrrha responded in kind with her seemingly endless tales of the travelers who braved the mountain pass. The stresses and peril of the day fell away from both of them as they enjoyed good food and good company until they grew tired enough to sleep.

Naturally, Pyrrha wrapped herself in the heat-retaining cloak and settled down on her side, facing the fire. Jaune settled down in his bedroll not far away and they both drifted off with ease in the safety and comfort of the stone house.

The next morning, the sun shone brightly and with enough strength to finally start to turn spring's tide against the snow cover. Now with Jaune leading Gasten, they found themselves splashing through icy puddles as they followed the road on its meandering path east.

By midday, they crossed a bridge of wood and baked clay spanning a small, sluggish river yet to be swollen by the melt-water coming down from the mountains and broke for a lunch of jerky, hard bread and cheese.

“Are you feeling ill?” Pyrrha asked, between dainty nibbled of her bread that belied the ravenous fury with which she'd attacked the jerky.

Jaune shrank back from her curious, green gaze and set his own attention on some green shoots just poking up through the mud at the edge of the road. “About two miles from here, there's a fork in the road. Left takes us along the logging trail that meets would take us to Coorat in about two more days...”

“And to the right, how long to Sol Sadatta?” Pyrrha didn't bother giving him another out. He seemed bound and determined to forge on ahead despite his unconcealed hatred for the place.

“Three, maybe four hours,” he said with a sigh. “We'll have enough daylight to do all our shopping, get an inn room and bar the door to it until daylight.”

Pyrrha stared at him for long enough for him to start fidgeting before asking, “Do travelers routinely disappear while passing through this town?”

“None that I know of,” he said in a way that hinted that he was sure it happened, he just didn't have the proof. “Except bandits who've tried to raid the place, of course.”

The dragoness smirked. “Well you do have a storied history of breaking into people's homes and threatening them.” She laughed at her own joke, but was quick to stop when Jaune didn't. “I'm certain this place isn't as awful as you say.”

Having had enough of that line of discussion, Jaune rose with a soft grunt. “You'll see for yourself soon enough. I've been through there a few times not, Pyrrha: you don't forget those things guarding the gate or working the fields, or whatever other menial task they're set to. Every one of them used to be people—probably the relatives and friends of the same people who cursed their bones to rise up again—and they don't even care. They've defiled their loved ones and made what's left of them till a damned field. Who does that?”

By then he'd turned away from her, but from the tension in both his voice and shoulders, his distress was evident. Setting her bread aside, Pyrrha stood and came up behind him, laying a hand cautiously on his shoulder. “I didn't realize how deeply this affects you. I am sorry. Once more: we don't have to go there. I can make due to Coorat.”

He reached up and covered her hand with his, her inhuman warmth radiating into his palm. “No. We need to. Even if you're okay wearing borrowed clothes and sleeping in the cold, we need food. The thaw's coming, but it's slow this year. The forage won't be so good along the way and Gasten can't live off shoots and bark. No choice.”

Stepping away from her, he let her hand drop. In a lower voice, one he hoped she couldn't hear, he added, “Just like them.”

That broke up lunch with rather brutal efficiency. They started walking again and Pyrrha finished her bread on the move. A few hours later, they topped a rise and for the first time, laid eyes on land devoid of snow. A patchwork of brown and off-green rectangles stretched out before them, outlined by lines of packed snow that formed low walls between them. They expanded out from a ten foot wall of baked clay ringed by a dry moat. The buildings inside were of the same material and, even from the distance they were viewing it at, viably superior craftsmanship.

What drew the eye, however, were the figures in the fields. Too thin and spidery to be humans, they pulled plows, broke up earth with shovels and hoes, and piled snow out of the way for the others. In the afternoon sun, they gleamed white with silver accents under the ornate leathers that covered their torsos.

Skeletons. Humanoid skeletons, held together by silver wire, animated by nekras. There were dozens of them, tasked to prepared the earth for the coming season's planting. Dead making way for new life.

Shoulders straight and stiff, Jaune led them down onto the dirt cart path that cut between the fields toward the town's only gates. A pair of figures stood at either side of the open gates, clad in iron plate armor with silver accents and the outline of a hand in dull lead upon their chests: the symbol of Dey: the Gray Hand.

When they drew closer, they noticed that the guardians weren't alone. A woman dressed in a coat, shirt and trousers so black that she looked like a hole in existence itself with a rosy-cheeked face and glossy brown hair emerging from it, got to her feet as thy came closer. Snatching up an ebon staff that looked something like a shepherd's crook with a silver bell hanging from a chain at the end, she smiled at the newcomers.

“You must be the lagging companions Master Logaire was waiting for,” her voice was strong and airy all at once. “Welcome good travelers, to Sol Sadatta.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is my deal with undead in D&D: It seems like they and things surrounding them are evil 'because'. As in there is never a satisfactory reason given that undeath is objectively evil in D&D. Taking the bones of dozens of people and making a bone golem isn't evil. Animating a corpse with positive energy as an animated object or (god forbid you're using the stupid Book of Exalted Deeds) Deathless, isn't evil. Actively doing harm to people using negative energy with Inflict Wounds or Harm isn't evil. But animating a corpse with negative energy is like being Satan's best pal.
> 
> Many, many years ago, when Wizard of the Coast still had a message board, I created the SunnyVille thought experiment (get it? Sol Sadatta?). In it, I described a town where a necromancer made a deal with the townsfolk: if they volunteered to have their body raised upon death, she would use their body in the defense of their still-living family. All they asked was for the cost of the onyx to raise them.
> 
> I went on to describe how the town's culture changed to a very pro-being raised after death attitude (which you'll see next chapter) and how things would change once they start using the raised bodies of their attackers for menial labor, freeing them up to pursue more cerebral activities.
> 
> One of the designers admitted that I had created a scenario where the necromancer would, indeed be Good no matter how much they raised the dead... then in 3.5 declared that uncontrolled undead rampage and try to kill everything to try and plug my 'loophole'. Because there was never a real reason for them to be evil.
> 
> I was worried about giving Jaune this much bitter anger, but this is exactly the kind of attitude that kicks off the events of Jaundice, so it feels appropriate. It'll get him in trouble here too, just you wait.
> 
> And we also see a touch of dragon angst. I often hear people talk about how overpowered canon!Pyrrha is and basically arguing that she had the Superman problem, being that it's difficult to challenge such a character. Any actual fans of Superman, however knows that the physical overpoweredness is part of the fun and the challenge comes from attacking them at an emotional level. I did this to dragons on Ere at the species level. They are ALL completely aware that they're living under a Sword of Damocles on top of still very much alive guilt over their ancestors who were quite literally monsters in every sense of the word. What she is and how she wants to reach beyond that are going to be Pyrrha's character arc for this fic.
> 
> There was a scene I cut here where Jaune has another resonance dream and sees the ribbon thing again, but I decided it wouldn't add much since there's a much more meaningful sequence like that coming up.


	7. No Song Is A Dirge

Jaune felt his shoulder's stiffen as the woman in black approached and spoke to them. He'd been through Sol Sadatta a handful of times in the past few years and, while he'd never spoken with her, he knew who she was: one of the three in the community who actually created the abominations that Sol Sadatta's economy and culture ran on.

He'd also never seen her up close. She was flawless; a bit heavier than most women, but carrying it well, with warm brown eyes that seemed to shimmer in the evening light.

Somehow suddenly his life was filled with beautiful monsters.

“I'm sorry,” he said stiffly at her inquiry, “Neither of us knows any Master Logaire. We're just stopping by to resupply after coming off the mountain.”

The woman blinked, then ducked her head. “Oh my, then the town certainly is bustling early! How wonderful—for you as well. You see Master Logaire is the leader of a troupe of entertainers up from the south for the Planter's Festival in the town of Croceatta.” She missed Jaune wincing, “But for the next two days, they're staying here and paying their room and board with their trade. I'm certain that more than any other time, you will have a wonderful time here.”

“Really? Well that sounds grand.” Pyrrha said, obviously delighted.

Jaune's mind was whirling. Croceatta was his home town, and he'd been hoping to miss the Planter's Festival and his now-annual public shame. Maybe he could convince Pyrrha that he meant to go around the lake in the other direction. She wouldn't mind a three day slog through a reeking swamp populated by giant snapping turtles and haunted by the spirits of a massacred orc tribe, right?

But the woman in black wasn't done speaking. “Oh. Pardon my manners.” She straightened her back and extended a black-gloved hand. “My name is Vivae Ammorett, daughter of the mayor, Souda Ammorett. I... tend the Walking Shrines.”

Jaune had heard the citizens of the town call them that. He didn't know or care why that was. Instead of asking after that name, he followed the bare minimum of decorum and reached to shake her hand... only to have a strong hand wrap around his arm.

“Actually, it should be my place to conduct your introduction, Master Arc.” Pyrrha said, stepping slightly forward to extend her own hand to Vivae. “May I present to you Jaune Arc, who these eyes have witnessed dealing a fatal blow to an ospreshrike, and who saved this wretched life of mine by foiling a most cunning dragon with his wits and tongue alone.”

Both Jaune and Vivae stared at her for a beat. As little as he cared for Sol Sadatta, he still felt profoundly embarrassed, especially for the sweet, fawning tone Pyrrha had affected, like a household maid who'd grown up being taught the greatness of her employers.

He let out a nervous chuckle. “She's... not from the Valley. Apparently in the River Kingdoms, they take saving a person's life very seriously.”

“My life would be over if not for your intervention, Master Arc. Therefore, every moment I have left I owe to you. This I pledge upon my soul.” Then she smiled at Vivae. “By the way, my name is Pyrrha Nikos, formerly of Nikosia, now proud vassal to the House of Arc.”

“I don't have a house,” Jaune said quickly, then to Pyrrha, “And please stop calling me 'Master' in front of people.”

Pyrrha turned to him and sketched a clumsy curtsy. “As you wish, sir.”

If anything, Vivae looked deeply amused. “I suppose we all have our ways. Welcome to Sol Sadatta. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me. The Vibrancy Inn is just down the main road just inside the gate, next to the social hall. Lithan will do well by you.”

Letting out a breath of relief, Jaune was about to thank her for her time, then move as quickly and as fer from her as possible. But his dragon companion again had other ideas.

“Actually, if I may.” Pyrrha took a step past Vivae to look closer at one of the armored skeletons guarding the gate. “Why are they called Walking Shrines?”

Vivae's expression lit up and she turned to face the creature as well. “That would be because that's what they are. The figures in armor you see paroling or on guard around town are all created from the remains of former citizens of this town. The armor itself serves as a grave and a tombstone for them. Look closely.” She indicated the etchings in the armor just along the collar for the breastplate.

Leaning closer, Pyrrha made out letters. “'Regarl Stoneth. Husband of Thotta, Father of Miree, Yance, and Lin. We who live sing blessings upon your gift and speak praise of your protection.' It really is an epitaph made right into the armor.”

“Indeed. It's been a tradition unique to our town for three generations, ever since my father's mother first settled here and offered to use her power to protect the town. Not everyone volunteers for this, so we make a special effort to honor them all.”

Jaune set his jaw. “What about the ones in the field? They aren't the same.”

If his accusatory tone bothered Vivae, she didn't show it. “Well no; they're made from the remains of those who attack us. They aren't worthy of honorable treatment.” The cold finality of her tone made Jaune work hard not to flinch. But it did help support his view of the people of Sol Sadatta. How one treated one's enemies said more than how one treated their own.

“How interesting.” Pyrrha said, then looked to Jaune. “I'd love to ask more questions, but we really do need to secure rooms and get some shopping done. Perhaps I will have another occasion to speak with you?”

“I would enjoy that. Master Logaire is hosting a dance at the social hall after dinner. Maybe I'll see the two of your there.”

Pyrrha looked at Jaune, who tried his best to convey 'no way in all Seven Interlocking Hells' with his eyes. “Maybe you will. Goodbye for not though!” She gave a cheerful wave and then with uncommon celerity was at Jaune's side again, hugging his arm while not-so subtly leading him away.

He waited until they were gone from earshot to speak up. “Please don't do that again.”

“Do what?” She asked, facing forward; the very image of innocence.

“Act like I'm your owner or something. With that 'Master Arc' stuff, or saying your life is 'wretched'. I'm guessing you hear those from a story somewhere, but that sort of thing is from east of the desert, out where the mages rule and actually do own people. It makes me feel...” he couldn't even come up with a word for it, simply making a disgusted grunt.

Pyrrha froze, almost pulling them both over when Jaune continued forward a step when she didn't. “I... I'm sorry, Jaune. I didn't know... I always thought it was just a flowery way of speaking.” Involuntarily, she shudder. “Mortals still practice slavery?”

“In some places, probably, but in the east, it's really the next best thing: the mages—not people like me, but ones who study and get far more powerful in their craft—are the only ones with money. The best jobs for people without the skill is being a household servant and those folks make sure their kids are raised to be good servants too.”

He took a moment to gather himself as they walked down the cobbled street toward the inn. “Them come through the Valley on the way to trade in the River Kingdoms. Their servants... they've been raised for generations to love their work. To love their employers... their masters. It's not rare to see people my age, sometimes younger doting all over some puffed up wizard like they were the most amazing person in the world. Like they love them. But it's not real. It's just that they've got no choice.”

For the first time since he started explaining, he looked Pyrrha in the eye. “I don't want to even pretend I'm like one of them, alright? Please?”

Pyrrha let go of his arm immediately and took a healthy step away from him, dropping her gaze to her hands. “Again. I'm sorry. I never imagined...” Taking a split second to look back at his stricken face, she decided to move them away from the subject altogether. “You certainly know a lot about the world.”

“I was a sickly child. Had a lot of time to read and listen to stories from the caravans that came through our village.”

She allowed herself a small smile as they reached the finely carved wooden door of the inn. “We are alike in that fashion. I wasn't sick, but I was idle and curious. Though the tales adventurers and bandits tell are a lot different from the caraveneers, I suppose. You know much about the world, I know much about stealth and guile and fighting.”

Jaune took an extra-quick step to get the door for her. As he pulled it open, he ducked his head with a nervous chuckle. “Guess we kind of complement each other that way.”

Pyrrha's answer was lost under the sound of a lively fiddle tune that spilled out onto the street when the door opened.

The Vibrancy inn was an average establishment by Jaune's estimation. The door opened onto a set of stairs leading down into the building's basement common room where a sizable hearth roared to hold back the cold of early spring. Old, well-made tables and chairs took up most of the space, save for the long, sturdy counter behind which was a cast iron cook stove and an archway from which delectable scents emanated.

There weren't many people there yet: the sun still up and the various workshops and stores still operating. Two tables were full to capacity with people running the gamut of the mortal races: from an elven man lounging against a wall scribbling furiously on a pad of parchments, to a pair of dwarves—a man and woman—playing some form of card game with two humans and a half elf. They all wore colorful if patched and worn clothing that marked them as performers.

Next to the stairs, an older man with long black hair that was; along with his short, scraggly beard, streaked with gray-white; was sitting alone upon a stool, playing the fiddle with expert proficiency. His eyes were closed was his fingers and the bow worked over the strings, drawing out the perfect notes to fill the room with a lively atmosphere.

No one in the room looked up at their arrival save for the tall, narrow-shouldered man at the bar, who gestured them over. Jaune started over immediately, but almost missed a step upon noticing the pair of Walking Shrines stationed on either side of the hearth where the flame's shadows almost hid them from view.

Only a gentle prod from Pyrrha kept him moving all the way to the counter.

“Afternoon, friends. Good to see you've found the Vibrancy. I'm the owner, Lithan.” The man behind the counter gave a casual bow. “What can I do for you?”

Doing his level best not to position himself to keep an eye on the two armored skeletons, Jaune replied with, “We're just off the Pass Road, on the way around the lake. Do you have any rooms for the night?”

“Preferably one with two beds.” Pyrrha added.

“You're in luck, I believe we have one such room left after Master Logaire's people took most of the others.” Lithan reached into a pocket of the smock he was wearing and extracted a thick brass ring with a locking clasp on one end. It looked to be capable of holding far more, but there were a scant handful of brass keys, each as long as a man's middle finger hanging from it. Undoing the clasp, he selected a single key and separated it from the others. “That will be three copper sprigs, but if you you pay with a silver piece of any kind, I'll only charge you two.”

Silver. Jaune knew why he would ask: silver was a conductor for certain magical energies including nekras. The mine Sol Sadatta was originally founded to service had played out decades ago, but they still needed to precious metal to make the most effective undead possible. He reached for his pocket, more than willing to pay the extra coin to deny them.

“That sounds like a wonderful deal.” One more Pyrrha was faster than he was, reaching into her bag and picking out a silver coin without looking. She placed it in Lithan's hand with a wide smile, which he returned along with eight coppers and the key.

“That it is, Miss. The community thanks you and so do I.”

Pyrrha dropped the coins into her bag along with the key before asking, “Could you direct us to somewhere we can buy clothing and general travel goods? We still have a long road ahead of us.”

Lithan shrugged. “Not a very big town, Miss. Missus Evangel does most of our tailoring we don't do ourselves; she might have some things to fit the two of you. You can find her place by going out the door, turning left, and counting six buildings once you cross the street. And as for travel goods, you walked right past the outfitter. His name's Taanfor; an elf from the West. Keeps to himself, but always deals fairly. Hope that helps.”

“It most certainly does, thank you.” Pyrrha turned to Jaune, “So do you want to go up to the room first, or get the shopping out of the way?”

He nodded thanks to Lithan as manners demanded before saying, “We should probably get everything done we can before the sun sets. Is that okay with you?” She nodded and they went back to the stairs, Jaune taking the lead in his haste to get out of the commons and away from the empty stares of the two Walking Shrines.

Upon opening the door however...

“Gah!” He almost walked into another of the creatures, which seemed to be making the most raucous and unearthly racket he'd ever heard. It leaned forward as he backpedaled, almost running into Pyrrha, who sidestepped him, then grabbed his arm so he didn't fall backward down the stairs.

It was only with the clarity of embarrassment that he noticed that the thing was actually holding out something to him—a looped length of familiar leather. Following the trailing lead also directed his attention to what was actually making the noise: Gasten, who was crooning and gnashing his beak, doing everything he could to escape the iron hold of the undead.

A magic circle formed of sky blue lines and curves formed in the air just beyond the skeletons' lack of lips and from it, Vivae's voice spoke. “Sorry to trouble you, but you left your animal at the gate. I sent one of our guardians to seek you out and return him.”

As quickly as it formed, the circle flickered out of existence and the Walking Shrine, whose epitaph suggested was from a mother of five named Madelee Ostrum once more proffered the reins. Jaune snatched them from the gloved hand of the abomination and was almost pulled over as Gasten tried to make a run for it.

Pyrrha grabbed the lead just above his own grip and together, they kept the terrified bird in place while the Walking Shrine turned and began trudging back toward the gate.

“Gods praise that girl, she means well, but she's never been beyond the fields. Thinks everyone is just as used to seeing those things as she is.” The older man who had been playing the fiddle squeezed past the pair and reached up to pay a hand on the side of Gasten's head.

He said a single word, but neither Jaune nor Pyrrha knew what language it was in. They only heard two flanging syllables and somehow knew it meant 'calm'. Pyrrha in particular started as it sent an odd, not-uncomfortable, but also not normal feeling through her. It reminded her of when Jaune forced the floating platform ritual to resolve.

Gasten immediately settled down, letting out a low warble before submitting to a scratch above the eye ridge from the stranger.

“Uh...” Jaune watched dumbfounded as the most hateful animal he'd ever known behaved like a playful, happy kitten for the man. “Thank you.”

“Nothing of it. Doing what you can for others should be second nature.” The stranger extended his hand. “The name's Irfam Logaire, by the way, Master of Ceremonies of the Troupe Magnificent.”

“Jaune Arc,” he shook the offered hand. “And this it Pyrrha Nikos.”

Logaire took Pyrrha's hand in turn and bent to kiss the back of it like a dime novel gallant. “Enchanted,” he said, straightening to take both of them in. “The real reason I followed you out was to suggest you engage the good innkeeper for a second night. A storm is blowing into the Valley tomorrow night. I don't expect much snow, but the wind and bitter cold aren't a thing to fool with out in the open.”

“We'll be fine, thank you. There's a hunter's lodge along the logging road we can easily reach if we leave early in the morning.”

“Are you sure? Those aren't like stone houses: eventually something will always ruin a building outside proper walls like that.”

Jaune felt his jaw tighten. “Very sure. No offense to your friends sir, but we'd rather not be here any longer than we need to be.” He nodded toward the retreating back of the Walking Shrine.

“Even if they were turned against you, those are a less certain death than being caught in killing cold. If not out of concern for yourself, think of your lady here.”

That made both of their backs stiffen, much to Logaire's amusement.

“We aren't... involved.” Jaune said quickly.

“We're merely travel companions. He rescued me from being the hostage of a dragon and I've chosen to accompany him until such time as I can find a means of repaying that life deft.” Pyrrha's eyes slowly brightened as she hastily constructed a fresh new fiction to explain their association.

Logaire raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. Interesting. The young man's words have the Ring of Truth, while the young lady's do not.”

Pyrrha turned red. “That's preposterous! I don't have any... romantic designs on this man!”

The old man smirked. “And there's the Ring of Truth. Seems the lie is in the idea that a dragon ever had you hostage, Miss Nikos.”

After a second's thought, Pyrrha's eyes widened. “Ring of... oh.” She looked at the man in front of her more closely. Less some twenty or so years and... oh dear... She recognized him.

Logaire saw the spark of recognition in her eyes and purposefully switched his focus to Jaune. “Of course, it wouldn't take my training to know that, just an understanding of the area. Far as I know, there's only three dragons n the Valley: There's Evenatilus, the Gods' Sword, the old Silver who lives on the Eastern mountains. He's the size of this inn here, so unless you've got a spare army in your pockets there, young man, it's unlikely you rescued anyone or anything from him.

“Then there's a Black, who by my word of honor shall remain nameless. The idea that you might know him as a dragon is the part that's laughable here.” He tilted his head in thought. “Then there's the Red in the West,” he pretended not to see Pyrrha flinch, “I doubt she's got a mind to take anyone hostage, and besides, she was the size of a rather large dog when I laid eyes on her. A precocious creature, yes—thinks herself the stealthy type. Of course she's certainly a thief: stole a Foxfire Sash from one of my party members going on twenty-two winters past.”

Now he made a point to look pointedly at the sash around Pyrrha's waist.

Jaune glanced aside to Pyrrha, then his hand dipped toward the sword at his hip.

“Stop.” The word broke over Jaune like a thousand shards of glass and he found that he couldn't move. Logaire shook his head with a half smile, looking to Pyrrha. “He thinks he's looking out for you even though we both know you could put me through this door with little effort. Not to worry though: five thousand gold pieces doesn't even begin to tip the scale when weighed against my soul.”

He took a step that carried him past Pyrrha, and before she could react, he reached out and ruffled her hair. “Good to see you've taken to traveling, Little One. Your curiosity was wasted just happening upon whoever cross the mountains.”

But that time, whatever had come over Jaune had ended and he turned to track what seemed like a dangerous if benign opponent. He was unprepared when a heavy gold coin with the image of a city atop a mesa hit his chest before thumping to the ground.

Logaire put his hands in his pockets and started off in a seemingly random direction. “Buy yourself an instrument, boy. What it is doesn't matter as long as you can play. That and some proper fancy clothes for the both of you. Don't want to stick out when you get your lesson at the social hall tonight.”

Jaune gawked, trying to form words, but Logaire kept walking.

“Just come. It's a good time. And maybe you'll learn a little something.” The old man shot a grin over his shoulder before turning the corner of the inn and disappearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Wild Mentor has appeared!
> 
> Yes, we're going to spend a few chapters in Sol Sadatta, as it's where both personal story arcs start and where we first spent some time with Logaire.
> 
> This was a lot of fun to write, what with Pyrrha just cheerfully going along with the townsfolk while Jaune grumps his way along while trying not to be too rude. Of note, I do make it a point to show that while they're very reverent of the townsfolk who allowed their bodies to be made into Walking Shrines, they do not give a damn about the bandits and soldiers who attacked them and gut turned into draft animals essentially. Kind of a nasty edge to the whole thing, but my idea is for there to be a balance: they're not good people or bad people, just people.
> 
> 'Walking Shrine' is named after the Walking Chapel from To Aru Majutsu no Index, though obviously a far different concept.
> 
> The talk of the servant-slaves comes from an actual phenomenon in feudal societies where peasants would struggle and fight to get their children into positions 'in the household' and then the children of those servants would essentially be brainwashed into total adoration of their 'betters'. It's pretty disgusting in practice, but it's also something stories and fairytales tended to romanticize, so I thought it would be a great example of something Pyrrha can get wrong given her limited knowledge pool.


	8. Stomp Up Life

Shopping in Sol Sodatta was an education onto itself.

With the brunt of the farming and menial labor taken over by the undead, the people had more time and effort to focus on other areas. They had full-time alchemists among them who scoured the wilderness for reagents which they turned into dyes, fragrances and other useful substances Jaune normally associated with the denizens of large, far-off cities and the artisans had the opportunity to refine their crafts such that even their most common wares were magnificent.

And even given the higher quality of goods, a gold coin and Pyrrha's coveted silver when a long, long way there.

Pyrrha had picked out not only a set of clothing for herself—a long, flowing red skirt and a tan blouse with polished wooden toggles with a gently used, white woolen hooded coat with brass buttons—but also a leather cuirass, arm guards and greaves along with some good, heavy boots.

At her insistence, Jaune also acquired new clothes to replace his worn traveler's kit. He'd chosen a simple white shirt, a pair of blue-dyed trousers with suspenders, and the heaviest traveler's cloak they could find, which was a dull forest green. None of the available boots in town fit him, so he kept his old set, which weren't all that bad off in any case.

They also replenished their supplies (including a truly prodigious order of jerky) with enough food for five days just in case they couldn't reach another town, and a backpack so Pyrrha could literally care her weight.

After some searching, Pyrrha also found Jaune a set of pan pipes, citing Master Logaire's instructions and ignoring all his protests. He turned the instrument over in his hands, eyeing it with undue caution as they walked back to the inn in the dying light.

“You did say you knew how to play them,” observed Pyrrha, effortlessly carrying almost their entire slate of purchases over one shoulder in her new bag.

Jaune put the pipes experimentally to his lips and played a few notes. “I'm better with strings—my father taught us all the lute—but I'm passable with pipes.” He shrugged. “I'm just not sure we should be acquiescing to the demands of the weird old man who somehow knows your secret.”

Now it was Pyrrha who shrugged. “He isn't just any old man. I remember him now. Mostly I remember his stories; all the amazing ones he told around he camp fire about distant lands, the amazing things there, and of course the heroes of those lands. They stuck with me more than any others.”

She caught his contrarian expression out of the corner of his eye and lightly rammed him with her shoulder. “I'm not just being a romantic idiot. He spoke—speaks with a power in his voice. He's a Bard in the formal sense, and I think we can learn a great deal from him whether he's friend, foe or neutral.”

For a moment, she hesitated, then added, “And when he was calming Gasten... and stopping you from drawing your sword... I felt something. An odd... vibration that went down deep somewhere inside of me. Jaune, the only other time I remember that feeling is when you were casting that platform ritual. I think he might know why your spells are... different.”

He almost missed a step upon hearing that. Not just her theory that Master Logaire might be able to help him with his spellcraft, but at the idea that she felt something when he was forcing the ritual to resolve. Specifically, her description of how it felt.

“What you felt,” he began carefully, “Would you use the word 'resonance'?”

Pyrrha squinted at him a moment. “I believe I would. Why do you ask?”

“I think you might be right,” he admitted, feeling defeated. He honestly just wanted to head to their room and sleep until it was time to leave Sol Sodatta. Things were getting even more strange and uncomfortable than he expected even at his most cynical about the town. But if Master Logaire had answers about his poor spellcraft and especially about his strange dreams... “I suppose we should get these things to our room, then head over to the social hall then.”

Despite all his misgivings, it made him feel just a little bit better to see the excitement light the dragoness's eyes at that.

RWBYRWBYRWBY

Most towns in the valley boasted social halls. They were gathering places where the business of the community could be carried out, whether that business came in the form of meetings, feasts, or hearings of both the criminal and civil nature.

In Sol Sodatta, the increased leisure time afforded to the populace was evident in the fact that as the sun went down, a healthy chunk of the citizenry converged on the hall almost every night, bringing food, instruments and anything else they felt was worth sharing with their neighbors. Every night was a feast of sorts, and even thing, this night was special because they had among them a full-fledged bard and his troupe of performers.

By the time Jaune and Pyrrha arrived, things were in full swing. Master Logaire was on the stage at the rear of the hall with his fiddle, backed by the two dwarves. The male of the pair was setting behind an array of wooden drums with hides stretched over the top while the woman had a single drum made of shiny metal in front of her with a strange rack holding a larger, deeper metal drum alongside a series of metal tubes of varying length sat off to her side.

Logaire was playing a fast and furious jig on his fiddle with the drums keeping time. On the floor in front of the stage, a line dance was in progress: local men and women performing a regimented but energetic stomp as they passed and twirled around one another, male and female partners occasionally linking arms or spinning one another.

“I've never seen anything like it.” Pyrrha said, her voice so airily only Jaune could hear her over the music. “I've heard stories about dances like this, but I could never really picture it.”

Though he doubted she'd ever heard stories grandly promoting regular old rural stomps, Jaune didn't have the heart to tell her that. Instead, he decided to indulge her. “If I'd known this was one of the things you were hoping to see, I could have shown you a few steps.”

She looked at him with a kind of awe no dragon should ever have for a mere human. “You know how to do this? You could teach me?”

Taken aback by her sheer hopeful enthusiasm, Jaune sputtered. “Uh... well I mean sure. Maybe not here, but...”

“Except today, he will not have to.” The elven woman had approached without either of them noticing. Taller then both of them by a few inches, she was a vision of beauty with smooth, dark skin and hair blacker than a raven's wing that hung in a thick braid over her shoulder. Her heritage was obvious from her ears, which extended from the sides of her head a good four inches on either side, ending in points. Like the rest of the Troupe Magnificent, her calf-length dress was a deliberate patchwork of eye-catching colors. A genial smile took the edge of their shock at being caught off guard.

She inclined her head to them. “My name is Siendre of the Elfhame Tohseid. Master Logaire asked me to keep an eye out for your arrival. He wishes to make your experience here tonight valuable.”

“Memorable?” Jaune asked without thinking.

Siendre shook her head and chuckled. “I did not misspeak.” Then she looked to Pyrrha. “You wish to learn this dance, Miss Nikos?” The answer she got came in the form of an excited nod. “I thought as much. Unfortunately, Mr. Arc cannot teach you this particular dance; it is not one known to the people of the Valley. It is from the desert. Auven'shadar.”

She gestured toward the dancers. “They've learned from the music, which Master Logaire has infused with the Song—power from the Well of Souls. You can learn as well if you wish.” Another member of the Troupe Magnificent, a human man with a light tan and short beard approached them when she waved to him. He gave a respectful bow to both Jaune and Pyrrha.

“This is Teague. He and I can serve as your initial partners if you'd like to learn. As I said, the experience might prove valuable.”

Jaune felt increasingly unsure about the whole thing. Logaire alone made him feel wary, but the idea that his entire troupe of performers was conspiring together made him itch. The intensity of Siendre's manner of speech, especially regarding their 'experience' didn't help matters.

Before he could voice any of this, Pyrrha had already stepped forward. “Yes. Please, I'd love to know even one of these dances. I've been deeply sheltered all my life—it's the first time I've even seen dancing.” Without any other prompting, she took the hand Teague extended to her and the performer whisked her away toward the dancing.

Jaune watched as Pyrrha's excitement turned to uncertainty only to melt into elation as the pair immediately joined in with seamless precision. He knew there was magic that could impart skills—Pyrrha's diadem was one such example—but never had he ever heard of such a thing being instantaneous. Looking to Siendre for answers, he found only an extended hand.

“Master Logaire tells me that anything you might think to ask will be answered once we begin. All you have to do is try and follow the steps and the music will do the rest.”

He looked from her hand to the warm smile she wore, trying to find the knife in either and found nothing. Then his gaze went to the dancers. Pyrrha was moving through the stomp like someone who had done it her whole life, her eyes twinkling with unrestrained delight as she twirled and stepped from partner to partner, occasionally breaking off to join a line with the other women to offer or receive a set of steps to or from the men.

It didn't appear as if she was under any sort of control, only that she knew all the steps of the stomp without actually knowing how she knew.

Jaune gaze shifted again and he found himself locking eyes with Logaire himself. The old man merely nodded to him like a casual acquaintance and continued to play. No special attempts to coax him to action, no mystical compulsion. Just recognition.

That finally convinced Jaune to take the chance. Whatever Logaire and his troupe wanted to do to him, they weren't being especially pushy about it. So he took Siendre's hand and allowed her to lead him into the dance.

A foreign feeling struck him the moment he tried to copy the movements of the other men on the floor. It was like remembering something he knew he'd never learned. The rhythm of the music, the tension in his muscles, even the exact amount of force with which he put his foot down; they all were just there in his head like every other dance he ever knew.

Without hesitation, he raised the arm clasping Siendre's and pulled her into a twirl before stepping back, giving a short, precise bow, then stomping his rear foot, turning and stepping past the man on his left, who took his place across from Siendre. This placed him opposite a woman a good ten to fifteen years his senior with blonde hair a shade darker than his own.

They took three stamping steps toward each other, linked arms, swung each other around, then took turned stomping to the left or right of the other's foot before stepping back, turning, and performing another partner switch as if they'd practiced the whole thing for weeks.

The dance continued for several minutes before everything started to fade way: the sights, the sounds of stomping and people talking, the smells of the various dishes brought to the celebration—everything but the music and even then, the melody and harmony were stripped away until all Jaune was experiencing was a single note.

A resonant note.

In the instant his mind made that connection, the world returned, only not as he knew it. Jaune found himself once more standing in a world of light and resonance, only this time he could make out not one but three ribbons of light erupting from the ground. Nothing and no one moved.

“I always enjoy being right about things.”

Somehow, out of the ever-present hum of the world, Jaune could pick out Logaire's voice. He looked around, but couldn't find the old man.

“Let me guess: you've been a failure all your life. Terrible luck, a constant sense of dread following you around, and if you ever tried to cast, things were just... of, am I right?”

Jaune opened his mouth, then closed it again, not knowing who or what he was supposed to be addressing.

The voice of Logaire laughed, a friendly, honest laugh. “I've been told it's a hard life for someone born with the knack out on the frontier. Part of you is always reaching, trying to connect to something you just can't touch on your own. And on top of that, you've got magic that's right for everyone else, but you're trying to cast wrong for you? I imagine that's rough.”

Taking a deep breath, Jaune decided to try his hand at responding. “What are you talking about? I was... born with bad luck? Is that it? That my spellcasting isn't right? I know that. What's this all about?!”

Again, Logaire laughed. “Allow me to explain some truths to you, son.”

Jaune wanted to point out that he had a father, but kept his mouth shut.

“The world is built around the Well of Souls: the place from which all souls originate and to which they all eventually return. The power of the Well is the foundation of all things on Ere, not just living things, but all substance, all energy. Normal people cannot access that power; they lack a connection to it.

“You and I? We are not those people. I've been taught how to reach out and forge that connection. You? You are one of those poor, accursed souls who was born trying to make that connection by brute force alone. Most of the time, people like you live short, miserable lives with an occasional moment of brilliance where they form a fleeting connection to the Well... but then you met a dragon and formed a personal connection with her.”

Jaune blinked, having not expected that. “You mean Pyrrha?”

“Do you know any other dragons, son?”

He chose not to dignify that with a response.

“I thought as much. The important thing for you to know right now, is that every dragon is naturally connected to the Well. By bonding with her, you became linked to her Strand of Fate—which is in turn a direct link to the Well of Souls. Through her, you were finally able to touch the Well and complete your connection. The moment that happened, your days of bad luck ended—and now you'll finally be able to learn.”

Jaune turned the new information over in his head and still came up without enough information to form a proper response. “Learn? Learn what?”

“The ways of the Word and the Song, son. Spells you can cast correctly for one.” Logaire's voice sighed. “I'll tell you this though: our path isn't the one of a mage. You'll never become the hero of tale and song because you'll be the one raising those heroes up, not winning the day or wielding great powers. I'll only teach you if I think you'll be of some use to the world—not if I think you'll try and ride what I have to offer to fortune and glory.”

Being of use.

After hearing that, he almost forgot everything else. It's all he'd ever really wanted.

But before he could say anything, Logaire interrupted. “Don't say anything now. Take your time, think on it. There's more to life than power and mystery. We'll talk again. Just enjoy tonight.”

It was as if a switch had been thrown. The world returned tot he exact moment it had all faded out. He didn't miss a step, performing a flawless passing move with his current partner, which ended in each of them turning the other around to meet their next partner.

Jaune couldn't help but smile a little when he found himself face-to-face with Pyrrha.

There was no doubt in his mind that Logaire had arranged things that way. The whole conversation, revelations and all, had happened at the speed of thought. And among the things Jaune now understood was that even if he didn't understand he extent of it, meeting her had changed things.

And he should be thankful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. Bards in the world of Ere are defined by having a wide breadth of knowledge and access to the underpinning of the universe, which they can nudge. It's like having limited cheat codes in a video game. Jaune's unique situation left him in a place where the universe basically knew he was trying to screw with it and was punishing him—even though he couldn't actively mess with it yet.
> 
> The whole concept of bonding with Pyrrha being the way he is finally able to make his powers work was part of the inspiration for doing this as a fanfic more than an original, as it was an existing concept in my Ere fiction that lines up to the aura unlocking scene.
> 
> Of course here, Jaune is far more aware of the ramifications of what Pyrrha (in this case unknowingly) did for him.
> 
> Sadly for Pyrrha, she doesn't get a lot to do this chapter or in the next one, but her time is coming and it involves that third Strand of Fate Jaune saw.


	9. The Just Priest and the Copper Princess

After the first dance, Logaire ceased using his power to aide the dancers and things settled into the organized chaos Jaune was used to with such events back at home. People still danced their reels and stomps, but perfect synchronization of the bard-assisted version quickly melted away, though no one seemed to notice because they were still having a good time.

Pyrrha insisted Jaune teach her the dances he knew from home when they came up, and after a few rather embarrassing collisions, was able to perform with a certain level of proficiency. They went around and around the floor for an hour, often together, but switching off partners as he steps demanded.

Once, Jaune found himself temporarily paired with Vivae, still in her light-sucking black garb, but he managed not to balk too much and before he knew it, he had a moment's peace while Pyrrha discovered the various foods people had brought to share with their neighbors.

Finding a seat along the walls of the building from which he could keep an eye on Logaire in case the man had a spare moment wasn't difficult, so he grabbed a shallow wooden cup of local ale and rested himself. In doing so, however, he spied another intriguing figure.

This one was dressed much like Vivae; with a black mantle cinched closed over a simple suit of black clothes. What separated him from Vivae and really what caught Jaune's attention was the heavy bronze chain hanging around the man's neck. The medallion on it was a stylized eye set in a circle with the pupil shaped like a square.

There were many depictions of the All-Piercing Eye of Denaii Lawgiver, but the square pupils were reserved for iconography within churches and worn by priests. As much as he felt the entire town of Sol Sodatta was spitting in the face of Sylph Reborn, even Jaune couldn't bring himself to think a citizen would willingly wear reserved icons. Which meant the man in black was a priest of Jaune's own favored deity, Denaii.

He hesitated, mulling over exactly what to say over his drink as he observed him. The priest was maybe ten or fifteen years older than Jaune himself, with a neatly trimmed beard and well kept brown hair. He mostly stayed in one place, choosing not to take part in the dances and letting people come to him, having several short, friendly conversations over either a drink or a small plate of food.

Finally, Jaune decided the man was approachable enough and made his way around the edge of the dance floor to him. When he arrived, he found the priest having just replenished his plate with some dried fruit and some thing slices of sweet pastry topped with clotted cream. “Excuse me, Cleric?”

The priest turned, raising his eyebrows inquisitively. “Hmm? Ah, hello.” He shifted the plate to one hand and extended his free one. “I don't believe we've met. I am Cleric Nekkio Ammorett, son of the mayor and sole authority for our shrine to the Pantheon.” He noticed the change in Jaune's expression and chuckled, “and you are someone who has met my sister.”

Jaune schooled his face. “I have indeed, Cleric.” He blinked, having almost forgotten himself. “I'm Jaune. Jaune Arc from Croceatta.”

“Hmm.” Nekkio inclined his head. “I think I've seen you before, haven't I? Croceatta's Harvest Festival last year? Were you in one of the competitions?”

A heat flared up under Jaune's skin. “I-I was on the Block... and I did the storytelling competition—told the Ring and the Wraith.” He'd been voted second best that night.

Nekkio beamed. “Ah yes. I remember you now. I think you really should have won. But that isn't your purpose for speaking with me, is it?”

“Well... yes. I'm a devout of Denaii myself. Not so worthy or pious to become an initiate, much less a Cleric, but I believe in the Book The Binds Us—read it three times cover to cover.” He took a shuddering breath before plunging forward. It wasn't every day he encountered a fully vested Cleric of Denaii. The cleric at his village was a devotee of Hessa, the Goodly Morn, goddess of Healing, Altruism and the Sun. “I wanted to ask you... how you...”

It was hard to put the question politely. He wanted to know how a righteous man could tolerate the undead Sol Sodatta kept everywhere. But he'd come up with that question before finding out that he was the brother of the woman tasked with maintaining said abominations.

Nekkio held up his free hand, silencing him. “You don't have to say: many outsiders to our town asked me the same question. You want to know how I reconcile what sets us apart from the rest of the Valley when I serve the same Pantheon that includes Sylph, who says very clearly that nothing dead that walks should be suffered existence. Is that what you wanted to know?”

A tiny prick of shame bedeviled Jaune, but he ignored it. “Yes. That is if you don't mind addressing it once again.”

“It wouldn't even be the first time tonight, Mister Arc, but I don't mind. Sharing philosophies is important—especially between neighbors.” He motioned for Jaune to follow him to the far wall of the social hall where he found two chairs together. He took a seat and waited for Jaune to do the same before beginning.

“First, I'll admit I likely would have the same attitudes as most people in the Valley if I weren't born here—or even if I weren't the descendant of Youlkalynda Ammorett, the mage who started the tradition of necromancy here. But I am and that means I've spent a very long time coming to terms with the truth.” He quirked a small, tired smile at Jaune, conveying a sense of long turmoil that was now at an end.

He took a moment to sample a piece of fruit from his plate before launching into his explanation. “When my grandmother first came to Sol Sodatta, it was in the middle of the War, but already bands of defectors and lost legion on both sides had made camp in the Valley, launching raids as they saw fit for food, supplies and women. As I'm sure you know, we're the first town on the road out of the western mountains, and at the time, Coorat was even less of an inviting target because it was a Vishnari outpost.”

“Shouldn't the outpost have protected the town?” Jaune had grown up on enough stories about the War to know the outposts were meant to provide blanket defense to outlying settlements on top of resupply for Vishnari forces.

Nekkio shook his head. “Against the hailene, yes. But they didn't have orders to hunt down deserters or stamp out banditry until the very end of the war—there simply wasn't enough manpower. Against the raids, Sol Sodatta was alone until my grandmother intervened.

“Youlkalynda was a healer by trade, an expert if not a master of vitae, but a devotee of Dey, not Hessa. She sold he skill instead of doling out succor out of compassion. But what she saw here touched her soul and made her want to help. Of course healing won't stop raids, but as most know, one can't command the light side of anima without an understanding of its dark sister, nekras. My grandmother first used that power on the wide scale breaking an already bloody attack by causing the bodies of the victims to rise up and slay their killers.”

At this, Nekkio shook his head. “Like any good farmers, the people of Sol Sodatta at the time wanted to put her on trial for defiling their loved ones' corpses, but she pled her case well: that the village had no other mages to protect them and so few men at arms. The raids had killed so many farmers that the place was on the brink of collapse without mystical help. She swore to be that mystical help, using her powers of undeath to protect and nurture the town, but only by raising those willing to make such a sacrifice of their bodies after death.”

Jaune scowled. “Their bodies, but what about their souls?”

Nekkio once again shook his head. “There are many types of undead, some naturally occurring, some conjured, some constructed. The kind Youlkalynda created—the Walking Shrines and lesser variants—solely animate the body. The soul is left unbound and makes its journey into the Afterworld and beyond regardless of what happens to the body.”

“That's still desecration.”

“Some say burning the body is desecration too,” Nekkio counted, “but where would the Valley be if we interred all of our dead in the ground? We would have no farmland—or worse, would be forced to bury them in the wilderness where monsters and spirit beasts might dig up and devour them. Over the years, people here have come to see the construction of a Walking Shrine as its own kind of funerary right. Have you seen how they decorate them? One their birth and death days, the families give them laurels of flowers or censors of incense. That's what finally convinced me, Mister Arc: not family or the teachings of Dey, but the simple truth that we of Sol Sodatta are very much honoring our dead, even if the means might seem strange and distasteful to outsiders.”

He met Jaune's gaze steadily. “I hope this has been helpful to you.”

Jaune looked away, feeling more unsure of himself than reassured about the Town the Dead Serve. “Y-yes, thank you. I'll stop wasting your time now.”

“It's never a waste.” Nekkio said, instantly in better spirits.

Nonetheless, Jaune beat a hasty retreat from the priest. It bothered him that Nekkio struck him as a just and reasonable man. That the representative of his god in Sol Sodatta was not only in favor of the Walking Shrines, but of the same flesh as their caretaker. It was as if the world was telling him he was wrong when his own senses both physical and moral were screaming otherwise.

Nothing anyone could say could quell the waves of revulsion he felt whenever he saw a Walking Shrine or watched the lesser undead the town made of its enemies swarming over the fields tending food people would put into their bodies.

A fresh new wave of queasiness hit him when he realized that the ale he'd sampled must have also been raised by skeletal hands. His stomach churned. He needed fresh air. A cursory look around the social hall failed to turn up Pyrrha, so he resolved to come back for her before stumbling out the doors and out under the low overhang that fronted the building.

With the doors closed behind him, the lively sounds from inside were largely blunted. The night was cool and crispy, winter still hanging on in the dark hours such that his breath formed little clouds in front of him. He went to one of the wooden pillars supporting the overhang and leaned on it, head bowed as he prayed, not just to Denaii but to any god that would hear to make things clear for him.

The boards that made up the crude floor in front of the building creaked and for the first time, he realized he wasn't alone. Turning, he found a woman watching him.

From her clothing; a bright green vest over a scandalously thin pink dress that only just covered her knees, soft, green knee-length boots and a long, white wool coat with a lining of pink silk, it was clear she was a member of the Troupe Magnificent. Exactly how she used the pair of hook swords hanging from his waist to entertain was left up to the imagination. Her glossy yellow hair was cut short so it just fell around her ears and her eyes—somewhere between full brown and hazel—almost glowed in the light coming from the hall's windows.

What really struck Jaune was her height. He'd heard that the mid-eastern coast was home to giants—not literal ones, but humans who routinely reached seven feet or more. The woman before him wasn't quite that tell, but she was almost half a head taller than himself.

“I saw you speaking with the priest,” she said, reminding him that he'd been staring. Tilting her head, she seem to study him with some intensity. “And I've seen how you look at the monsters they keep leashed to every corner here. You hold no love for the undead either, do you?”

Jaune couldn't place her accent, but it wasn't like that of any other peoples from the eastern coast who had come through the Valley, not any he remembered at any rate.

At his lack of reply, she took a few steps closer. “I don't either. In the desert, we have the ghul, creatures who consume the dead, steal their shape and try to live their lives. I lost... a very close friend to such a beast and did not learn the truth until over a year later.” Her features grew dark and Jaune could have sworn he heard her growling under her breath.

She took another step, this one carrying her out of the light of the hall's windows so that she became nothing more than a silhouette. “I hate the undead. I hate those that bring more into this world. And I know where the necromancer who constructs these 'Walking Shrines' keeps her sanctum. They don't even make a secret about it.”

In the darkness, she reached out a hand. “Logaire shared his suspicions with me earlier: that you're a nascent bard. Bards make their mark on this world by aiding in acts of heroism. Would you help me end the possibility of new abominations in Sol Sodatta?”

Jaune swallowed, looking down at the proffered hand. Was this the clarity he'd asked for?

“I-I don't even know who you are.” he stammered, unsure.

“My name is Summaiyi Copper Daughter of the Wesseri. If you'll aid me Jaune Arc, I can be your first hero; the first soul you might power on the path to greatness.”

At this, Jaune froze. He'd read enough on the desert tribes and cults to recognize that naming pattern. The dragon cults used them to describe the special children 'gifted' to them by their patrons and the true-breeding descendants of those children. In the greater world, there was another name for these rare children born to both the mortal races and a certain decidedly less mortal race—dragonsired.

He thought back to when Logaire had spoken to him about what he was, about how he'd seen not the usual one, but three white ribbons. The old bard said he'd touched Pyrrha's 'Strand of Fate' before, and in what he'd thought to be an earlier dream, he'd touched the white ribbon at the center of the campfire before waking to find Pyrrha sleeping in the camp fire.

So Pyrrha's was one Strand. Assuming the other was Logaire's (and there was certainly reason to believe a bard would have one if their power came from the Well of Souls), that meant the third had to belong to either a bard or a dragon—or someone with the blood of one. Like Summaiyi.

Before he could ask any questions, however, she shook her head. “You don't have to say now. If you stand with me, come to the reach of the Inn at midnight. If not, please do not tell the others. They might feel sympathy for the people who have perpetuated this evil and try and stop me.”

Jaune nodded dumbly. He had a lot to consider now and not a great deal of time. He managed to mutter a quick, noncommittal goodbye before stepping back into the social hall. His intention was to find Pyrrha—which he did almost immediately by running into her.

The dragoness's human form was solidly built enough they she merely rocked on her feet a bit, more concerned with balancing the two cup in her hands than her own stability. Jaune put an arm around her shoulders to steady her just for a moment before letting her go. She looked up at him, red-faced and with what he might have thought was a hurt expression before he noticed one of the cup in her hand was empty.

“Are you...” he didn't want to say 'drunk', and so went with, “aright?”

She nodded. “I... yes.” After taking a moment to steady herself mentally, she continued, speaking slowly and deliberately. “I was looking for you.” The still-full cup sloshed a bit as it was thrust in his direction. “Someone said they opened a bottle of this on the special occasion that so many visitors were in town and I thought you might like to try it. It gave me a delightfully warm feeling...”

No, 'drunk' seemed to be the most likely thing going on. He wondered how that was possible, given that she was in reality the size of three men, she was drunk off only a few cups of alcohol, but then he had no idea how shapeshifting worked.

A huge yawn fought its way out of Pyrrha and she blinked rapidly. “And now it seem to be making me drowsy. Perhaps we can return to our room?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jaune took the full cup with one hand and her arm with the other, leading her toward the door. His mind was so occupied by navigating her back to the inn before he had to carry her that he didn't notice the worried look she cast at him under heavy eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone speculates, she is not jealous. Really, I don't read Pyrrha as jealous in canon either. She's rather resigned about the whole Weiss thing and if there's any negativity toward Weiss, I imagine it would be over how she treats Jaune than that she has his attention. There's more to this than drama, s we'll see next chapter.
> 
> We also have an in-universe explanation for Sol Sodatta and also the notation that there are naturally occurring undead. You'd think the goddess of nature would be cool with that, but nope. Ghuls by the way aren't evil either. They're based on the Arabic mythological ghul, which are corpse-eaters who take the shape and memories of those they eat. On Ere, ghuls are 'born' from people who died alone in the desert and start out non-sapient. Only after eating a corpse do they gain sentience and the memories of the one they ate, literally having no other life in their mind than the one they unknowingly stole. Some go insane and kill-happy, but others are tragically just victims of their nature, trying to come to grips with what they are and the life they stole.
> 
> And we now meet a dragonsired. We'll see how this differs from a full dragon in the near future. Imagine a smaller, less tough dragon who has the advantage of tool use and mobility, basically. Also only a single alternate form, that of a member of the other parent's race.


	10. What The Soul Knows Is Right

“I know you don't like this place, but this is the first village I've even visited and I like it quite a bit,” Pyrrha said lightly as she and Jaune exited the social hall out into the chill night air.

Given that his home village of Croceata had a proper tavern with much stronger liquor, he'd seen his share of drunks in all their variety in his short life. While he couldn't figure out how she managed to get even as far as she had on a single cup, he was pleased to find she wasn't one of the bad kinds. Denaii spare his carcass if she were the type to get combative an angry.

Instead, she was just chatty and a tad off balance. She remedied the latter by taking gentle hold of his arm and the former mostly by prattling on about the things she liked about Sol Sodatta.

As he conjured up a magelight to see by on their short trip down the darkened street, it occurred to him that to an outsider, they looked like a pair of lovers having an evening stroll. And as soon as he thought that, he cursed himself, because on some accursed instinct, he looked over at her and into those green eyes, so luminous in more than one meaning of the word.

Beyond the eyes, her face was a perfect portrait of contentment and burgeoning excitement. Jaune couldn't remember the last time he'd seen that expression on the face of someone in his company, but he knew how much she's enjoyed their journey and felt more than a little happy knowing he'd had even a small part in that.

Noticing him looking at her, Pyrrha just smiled and squeezed his arm a little. “Are all the villages in the valley like this one?” she asked, eyes darting away to take in the few lit windows around them. There weren't many: most of the town had turned out for the festivities in the social hall, but there were enough to make themselves known.

Jaune shrugged, careful not to dislodge her as they continued along. “Every village is the same on some ways, but different in others. They all have walls—y'know because we don't want to die—and grow some crops. There's always an inn or sometimes even a hotel down south where they get more people passing through. But past that... it all depends on what they grow, what they make, what kind of magi live there...”

“What about your village? What's that like?”

He balked at that question, but only for a moment because he didn't need her asking why he wasn't excited talking about his home village. “Oh. Well... Croceatta is near the lakeshore and that means we have the water to raise livestock and fish. That means there's more people there, more crops to feed all the animals...” He sighed. “This has to be really boring. Maybe I should tell you about some of the bigger towns or...”

“No, it's fine. I wanted to know more about the place you come from. Mostly because I wonder if there are more humans like you there.”

Never had Jaune been so thankful to have come to a door than when he used the time opening the one into the Vibrancy Inn to think up a way to respond to that. The bar was unmanned as they entered, and the common room was populated only by a a pair of old men too engrossed in a game played with wooden plaques to even take notice of them.

It wasn't until they were already starting up the stairs that Pyrrha finally prodded him for a reply. “Jaune?”

“Hmm?”

“You... were telling me about your village. What are the people like? Did they teach you woodcraft and the other things you know?”

He forced himself to keep moving, and his eyes to keep forward. “To tell the truth, not long after I was old enough to be expected to work, I've spent a lot of time going around the Lake Ring Road; making deliveries, making contracts for my family's wares, collecting things people back home ordered from other villages... things like that.

“I picked up woodcraft from people who live outside the walls who come into Croceatta for the Festivals and for trade—they're the ones that eventually talked my parents into letting me go out into the world alone. So... no, there's really no one else like me.”

He finished just in time to fit the key into the door to their room and push it open. He had to admit that the rooms at the Vibrancy Inn were very nice: there were two mattresses sitting atop polished wood plinths with a small table between them holding a wash basin and a large pitcher. Off to one side there was a tin wash tub and a folding divider for privacy.

Pyrrha gave him a concerned look as he allowed her to enter first. “Jaune? Are you alright?”

“Just tired,” he lied, shucking off his coat and heading to one of the beds.

“If you say so,” Pyrrha replied, not bothering to hide her concern or curiosity. She didn't bother changing or even undressing, simply tottering over to the unoccupied bed and allowing herself to simply flop forward onto her stomach. After a moment, she wormed her way up the mattress to the pillows, immediately burying her head in them.

For his part, Jaune simply sat down in his bed and pushed away the nagging thoughts their discussion stirred up. His gaze eventually settled on the lazing form of Pyrrha.

This, he forcibly reminded himself, was a dragon. He hadn't thought about that during the entire walk back to the inn. Then, she'd just been another woman. Well, not another woman, she'd been Pyrrha, a woman he knew and was enjoying the company of.

Shaking his head, he admonished himself. Above all, he had to remember that Pyrrha was not a human. She was wearing the form of one for the purposes of their ultimate goal of fleecing the most powerful man in the valley. While she certainly liked humans and was interested in their way of life, it was in the same way a human might be interested in the ways of apes or orms.

Yes, he now understood that he owed a great deal to her, but he had to keep in mind that when everything was over, she was going to resume her natural form and fly off to find another cave to make her bed of coins and in a few hundred years, the feathered mattress at the Vibrancy Inn and the blonde failure knight in the room with it would be a distant memory, barely worth considering.

How fitting that the only person outside his family that didn't find him useless in the extreme would herself have no use of him in a few short weeks.

He laid back and closed his eyes, Logaire had told him his fortunes would change now that he'd made his connection to the Well of Souls. So far it didn't feel like it.

Except there was Summaiyi.

True, she wasn't completely human—or even demihuman—either, but at this point, given recent history it took a spark of something far removed from humanity to drive someone to befriend him. That would explain how he got along with the Shamblethorn Tribe and The Get of Shuck too.

Not that he knew all that much about the Copper Nation dragonsired, but she at least shared his moral proclivities. Speaking of which...

He propped his head up and looked in Pyrrha's direction. She was in the same position as she'd been before: face-first in the pillows, her vibrant red hair splayed out across her back like a silk sheet. The only movement in her were the soft, repetitive breaths of light sleep.

Looking at her made him feel inexplicably guilty even though he knew what he planned to do was right. Maybe it was the fact he was sneaking out, maybe it was because he knew she wouldn't be happy about it. Either way, he averted his eyes from her as he got up and set about changing.

Putting on his armor would make too much noise, so he left it off. He still took up his sword belt and buckled it on. Thus armed, he cast one last look at his traveling companion and left the room as quietly as possible.

If he'd lingered at the door a moment, and had the keen hearing of a dragon, he would have heard an unhappy sigh.

RWBYRWBYRWBY

At the rear of the Vibrancy Inn was a small, cobblestone plaza centered around a well surrounded by benches. Several bars of soap the size of Jaune's fists put together showed evidence as to what this particular well was used for, but they all appeared to have been fossilized to the benches by the deep cold of winter and hadn't yet fully thawed.

Summaiyi sat cross-legged on one of those benches, prodding one of the giant soap bars with the bladed hilt of one of her swords. Since Jaune had seen he last, she'd changed so as to be ready for battle: a light, patchwork vest of supple leather with matching bracers and trousers that was open in the back save for catches up near her neck and down at the base of her spine. Loose toggles also held closed the snug woolen shirt beneath it. Instead of boots or normal shoes, she wore sandals with a strip of hardened leather positioned to protect her toes and bronze plates entangled in the leather thongs securing the sandals to her legs, keeping her shins and the tendons in her calves shielded as well.

The dominate light of the white moon, Gracelia turned her short hair into a shock of silver that seemed to dance around her face as she turned upon sensing his approach.

“You decided to help me,” she observed with a relieved smile, “I'm glad. And also proud there are still such people in the world. Logaire and the rest of the Troupe don't seem to see the harm in...” She gestured around her in frustration, “This.” A shadow settled over her face as she lowered it, shaking with rage. “The damned dwarves don't even believe in the undead. I suppose that says something favorable about those holes they call home though.”

Jaune stopped a good distance away from her, hands shoved in his pockets. “Believe me, I know. The Valley saw a lot of battles and the nekras has just settled in some places. A handful of zombie animals attack the walls back home every month or so. The worst is when something big dies out in the Knotted Woods... and you don't really need my life's story. Sorry.”

Standing, Summaiyi waved his apology off. “I'm just happy to have someone with some sense around. You're lucky you've only had zombies. The desert.... it's a place where a person can die many terrible, lingering deaths. Before joining the Troupe, I hunted and destroyed them: revenants, stegna, lost spirits, ghuls...” She said the last word in a growl.”

“T-these things are pretty terrible,” Jaune tried, “All armored up and decorated...”

“Indeed. But they're mindless. As hard as they are to damage, they're easy to dodge and strike. But as long as there's a source of the disgusting things, it doesn't matter of we destroy every one in town,: they'll merely be reconstructed or replaced.”

She flashed him a grin that showed off a set of sharp, inhumanly long canines. “You've lived near pockets of strong nekras, right? Then you know what you have to do to stop everything that dies there from rising as a zombie, yes?”

Indeed he did know, but something about the way she asked made him feel uncomfortable saying it. Still, he soldiered on and managed: “Cleanse the area?” He doubted she was expecting a priest to show up and perform the literal version of that.

Her grin widened and before his eyes, her pupils became catlike slits and lines of triangular, copper scales emerged from her skin, forming tapering stripes running up her neck, leading up the the corners of her eyes and mouth and on just licking her cheekbones. The white moonlight stopped bleaching her hair white was it took on a metallic sheen that was decidedly not silver, much less blonde or white.

“Exactly.” She pointed a gloved finger to a narrow avenue that threaded its way between two blocks of tightly-packed houses. “Now onward to wipe Sol Sodatta's soul clean.”

Jaune hesitated when she started off at a job, but reminded himself that choosing not to aid the dragonsired woman was acting on the side of Sol Sodatta's abominations. Steeled by his own fervent belief that keeping more of those creatures from coming into existence was the right thing, he set off after her.

Sol Sodatta wasn't a large village, but off the main two streets, it was dense in the fashion that most villages in the Valley shared in common. It saved space inside the walls and keeping the houses close meant there were fewer walls for the heat to escape through in the winter, and less distance to run should a neighbor be in trouble and need assistance. It made fires a danger, but that was what magic was for.

They passed through several knots of homes like that before coming to the one private home in the city set apart from the others. Standing alone It had now walls of its own, just a circle of well-manicured grass and stone planter boxes supporting plants not normally seen in early spring—Vivae's work no doubt, Jaune surmised. As a nekras master, she had to also be intimately familiar with its other half in anima, vitae.

Two dark shapes loomed on either side of the single arched door of the two-story stone block house. They didn't resemble the Walking Shrines seen elsewhere in the town. Each of these wore a full suit of plate armor, heavy visored helm included. Instead of engravings, they were heavy with ornamentation: solver filigreed ivy running down their ribs, plumes of drawn copper wire interwoven with cut gems in their helmets, lines of alternating rubies and onyxes tracing their collar bones, and more luxuriant of all, their names, written in a script Jaune didn't recognize, were written in gold across plates of rare aluminum across their foreheads.

One wielded a polearm that practically hummed with magical energy. The other appeared unarmed until one noticed that its gauntlets had been forged so that the fingers ended in a set of claws that would make a bear back down in a fight.

Summaiyi gripped the hilts of her swords and eyed them like Jaune had seen Pyrrha so often eye Gasten, but she gave the building a wide berth and circled around it. “The necromancer's sanctum is accessible from inside. She actually invited the Troupe to come visit it. But while I was there, I noticed a hidden ladder built into a wall behind some shelves—something from a time where her ancestor's actions weren't as well-loved here.”

Her pace slowed as her eyes scanned the base of the building. “It should be right... there.” she pointed to one of the stone planters from which a beautiful bunch of orchids was growing, willing the air with the sweet scent of vanilla. Her predatory grin returned as she grasped the hilts of her swords once more.

But before she could make her move, her back stiffened and her head whipped around toward the direction they'd come.

Coming up short, Jaune turned to see what had disturbed her and felt his stomach drop into his boots.

Pyrrha Nikos was walking around the path around the house at a determined clip. She was still wearing the clothes she'd gone to the social hall in, but had hastily donned her curiass of her leathers and a belt containing her sheathed katars. Gracelia turned her hair to flame and her diadem into a halo while it threw every tension hardened muscle in her expression into stark relief.

“You told her?” Summaiyi growled.

“I didn't say a word to her.” Jaune whispered, hoping Pyrrha wouldn't hear—even though he didn't know if it were possible to make her more upset with him at this point.

“He told me nothing.” Pyrrha speaking in her normal speaking voice seemed to split the air with its din for the pair who had been whispering and moving silently for the past half-hour. “You're the one that told me everything, Daughter of Copper. I heard everything when you propositioned him at the social hall.”

Summaiyi slipped her swords loose from the hooks that held them onto her belt by a fraction. “Then you're here to stop me then?”

The redheaded dragoness closed her eyes and shook her head. “While I would beg you not to do this, you aren't any of my concern at the moment.” And with those words it was as if Summaiyi ceased to exist for Pyrrha as she cast a pleading gaze in Jaune's direction.

“Jaune, you owe me nothing, but what you're about to do... it will hurt this town—hurt it's people. And if you would so flippantly do that to people who have been nothing but kind to you... then I'm afraid our time traveling together is over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, Pyrrha finally gets back to doing stuff! Hooray!
> 
> Quite a bit of foreshadowing in this chapter. We'll meet a lot of people mentioned here. And people can now probably piece together some of the stuff about Jaune's back story and why he's often out in the murderous wilds. For one, villages on Ere are great places to stand and fight; if you're only good at running away and being clever, they're just kill boxes.
> 
> And if you're a D&D player, you can probably guess which 'monster' race would be the best friends with Jaune. Hint: they may have eaten your baby in another game.
> 
> Speaking of Jaune's thoughts, yeah, we're starting to turn the corner here. Jaune gets to go first this time mostly because I feel like it would be easier for a human to fall for a shapeshifted dragon than a dragon to fall for a person.


	11. When Dragons Go To War

Jaune took a step forward before he could think better of it. “Pyrrha, just because you don't agree with—”

“This has nothing to do with your beliefs or mine,” she cut him off sharply. Her hands, formerly folded neatly in front of her, clenched together tightly. Taking a breath, she smoothed out the strain in his voice and tried from another direction. “A few days ago I met a young man who believed in the old tales of heroes who did what was right and who was kind and thoughtful. I have quite enjoyed my time with him.” She met his eyes with a fierce and hurt gaze that made him flinch.

“Just tell me this, Jaune: How many of your heroes razed villages? How many cursed children and the elderly to die lingering, agonizing deaths? To satisfy their own beliefs? Because that's what you're preparing to do here.”

Mind racing, Jaune shook his head. “That's not what we're doing we're only—”

Pyrrha clenched her fists to the side and almost shouted, “It doesn't matter what your intentions are, it's the consequences of your actions! Think about it: there are no farmers here anymore. The Walking Shrines and the other creatures plant and grow all their food. And here we are at that start of spring. How much food do you think this town has left in their winter stocks? How much do you think they can get in trade? Enough to last to summer? Harvest season when they'll reap a field of dust? Even I know what happens when a town has bad growing season and it makes me sick to think about what happens when they have nothing.”

Having stayed silent for this long,Summaiyi moved up beside Jaune, brandishing her hook swords. “Shut your mouth. These people invited this evil into their walls and let it fest. They deserve to suffer worse than just the pains of hunger.”

She might as well have not been there. Pyrrha continued looking to Jaune. “Is that what you believe? After today? After they've been nothing but polite and generous to us? Can you imagine the faces that smiled at us withered by starvation and call it justice? Was everything I thought I knew about you nothing but an illusion, Jaune?”

It was everything Jaune could do not to shiver at the accusation and the pained look in his companion's eyes. “Y-you don't understand. What they've done is an affront to Sylph.”

“Then let Sylph punish them,” exclaimed Pyrrha, eyes blazing. “Gods can be cruel, but do you have to be? Is that what you really are?”

'What' not 'who'. Jaune didn't miss that distinction. He couldn't help but think about what he'd really seen in the town. Before, when he'd passed through the town, he'd done so as quickly as possible to avoid as much contact with the inhabitants as possible. This time, however, he'd gotten to know these people and... they weren't all that different from the people in Croceatta.

And he knew that if someone had a grievance with Croceatta, he'd hope they wouldn't sentence the whole place to death.

His shoulders slumped as the last of his resolve to ignore everything that had been bothering him eroded. A heavy sigh heaved in his chest. “Summaiyi... she's right.”

“What.” If he hadn't been wallowing in his shame, there would have been a good chance Jaune might have noticed the building rage in the other woman's voice and avoided what was coming.”

“I said she's right. We can't do this. They might be doing something completely disgusting, but they're not bad people and we'd be doing way too much damage going through with this.”

Summaiyi jammed her swords back onto the latches holding them to her belt and grabbed Jaune by the collar, swinging him around to face her. “Are you really this weak that you'll let yourself be manipulated like this? Those 'shrines' didn't make themselves. They were created by people in this town with the support of all the other people in this town.”

“Let him go.” Pyrrha took a few steps forward, but it was her turn to be ignored. Summaiyi kept talking in a low, dangerous growl.

“As long as they're able to they will just keep making more. Today it's a workforce of skeletons, tomorrow its an army of horrors. Who cares if every single one of them starves as long as it stops the flood of undeath into this world?”

Jaune looked her in the eyes, seeing the mad, desperate hatred behind them for what it was the first time. She really didn't care about what happened to the people of Sol Sodatta as long as she got rid of what she hated most.

He sent up a prayer to Denaii that he'd never been that far gone. And the Pyrrha didn't truly believe he was capable of that.

“I. Do.” With Summaiyi's grip on his collar, it was all he could do to wheeze the words out. The moment he said it, he knew he was going to pay for it. But he didn't regret it.

With a feral snarl, Summaiyi hurled him aside with incredible strength. He struck the ground shoulder-first and rolled to a stop in a heap. In a flash, she had her swords in hand. “Is that the length of your commitment? A few fluttered lashes and a sad story? Fine. If you won't help me, I have to make sure you don't hinder me.”

Before she could do more than raise her swords, a wall of green fire flared into being between her and Jaune. She had no time to realize that there was no heat coming off the flames before Pyrrha slammed into her. Her katars were held in a reverse grip, so it was her knuckles instead of deadly steel that buried themselves in Summaiyi's ribs, driving the air out of her lungs.

Seizing the advantage, Pyrrha bulled forward with her shoulder, catching Summaiyi in hers and knocking the woman off balance.

As Summaiyi fell onto her back, Pyrrha switched her grip to bring the blades of her katars forward and dropped into a ready stance. “Please just give up and return to the Troupe. I don't want to do you any more harm, but I will if it stops you from doing worse to anyone else. Especially not Jaune.”

Summaiyi rolled with the fall and came up in a crouch, swords held out to the sides. “Spare me your righteousness. You know nothing of the undead or what they can take from you. You care about him? Imagine having to see his lifeless body shambling around under that Vivae woman's command.”

She launched herself forward, using the longer reach of her weapons to keep Pyrrha on the defensive with wide, probing slashes. Pyrrha blocked with her katars in turn, carefully avoiding the hooks as Summaiyi tried to catch her weapons with them.

“Or perhaps you'd like to find him one day being eaten alive by people he knew returned as nightmares.” Abruptly abandoning her earlier strategy, she dropped low and caught Pyrrha's left ankle with a hook, yanking it out from under her.

The moons reflected in Summaiyi's eyes as unholy light as she raised her blades for a deadly twin strike. “Or what if you discover that what you thought was him, someone you cared about enough to fight and die for, was really the thing that ate his corpse and was trying to steal his life? How much would you care about the people who create more such monsters then?”

Pyrrha rose into the twin overhead strike headed her way, thrusting her katars between the falling blades. Sparks filled the night as she turned the attack to either side of her and followed through with a vicious headbutt that broke Summaiyi's nose with an audible crunch.

With the other woman reeling, she grasped her arms at the elbow and locked them to her sides with her full draconic strength. Sweat caused wild strands of hair to stick to her forehead and the side of her face as she met her opponent's white-hot glare with her own.

“I am sorry for your loss. But what you want to do will only take other people's loves ones. It won't bring yours back.”

“You think I don't know that!?” Summaiyi screamed into her face. Her muscles strained and those in her neck corded as she fought against Pyrrha's hold. A powerful growl rumbled in her chest, loud enough that Pyrrha could feel it through her cuirass. The pattern of copper scales on her face began to spread with her building rage. “You have no idea who or what you are dealing with!”

A deeper intake of breath was all the warning Pyrrha had. If she hadn't been a dragon herself, she might have missed it. As it was, she had just enough time to dodge to the side when Summaiyi unleashed her breath weapon.

But not enough time to get herself out of danger entirely.

It had been almost a century since anyone in the valley had seen a dragon or dragonsired do battle. The stories that passed focused on the most impressive of the dragons: the reds who literally rained liquid flame down on their enemies, the golds that unleashed cones of hellfire, and the silvers from whose mouths issues beams of brilliant and destructive light. Less discussed were the coppers, whose bodies process minerals into incredibly fine quartzite sand which they could expel with such pressure that it could etch solid granite with its abrasive force.

If Pyrrha hadn't dodged, the blast might have scoured her throat all the way back to her spine. As it was, it missed her major blood vessels but still flayed the top layers of skin off the left side of her neck, shredding more than enough minor veins to send a crimson flood spilling down her shoulder.

She screamed in agony, unable to register it was Summaiyi brought her weapons together between them and shoved her to the ground. Once more, she reared back with both swords, ready for the kill. So intent was she on destroying her enemy that she didn't hear Jaune reciting until he'd already thrown himself into the fray, blocking both her swords with his ancient hand-me-down. With his other hand, he reached down and pressed his palm to Pyrrha's bleeding neck.

“...Web that binds all who live. Make whole the flesh. Mend the harm. And grant succor to the wounded.”

Jaune had cast the basic healing spell probably hundreds of times, often on himself thanks to his abyssal luck and preference for traveling out between the villages. It never felt the way it did this time.

Usually the words formed the pattern into which the vitae flowed. This time, the words echoed and resonated as he spoke them; the language meaningless next to the cadence, the meter and the intent he poured into it. For the first time, he felt like he could sense his own connection to the Well of Souls. It entered the world from somewhere in the depths of his being like a spring emerging from a crevice in the side of a mountain and when he called upon it, extended up through his arm to his palm and then into the tips of his fingers.

When he touched Pyrrha, the power of the Well reached into her. It began to effect her wound yes, but it reached further doing things that no healing spell he knew was capable of.

It all happened in an instant. Summaiyi's surprise at the sudden block didn't last long and in the next moment, she recovered, ready for another attack; one Jaune didn't have the skill to defend against.

Pyrrha's eyes, formerly glazed with shock, cleared in time to see the attack coming: a sweep that would pass between Jaune's ribs and collapse a lung at best. Instinct, both her natural ones an the combat reflexes granted by her diadem, took over and she grabbed Jaune, dragging him down on top of her and rolled in the direction of the strike.

The deadly flash of the blade that would have killed Jaune turned as it instead cut into her cuirass before glancing off and slicing a three-inch gash into her shoulder.

This time the pain dulled her retort none at all. Still rolling, she lashed out with a kick that caught Summaiyi behind the knee, making her stumble. With the time bought, Pyrrha rolled off of Jaune and kipped up to standing. Katars at the ready, she faced her enemy prepared to finish their fight.

Before her eyes, Summaiyi's dragonsired transformation progressed. The scaled had covered her body completely and her nails had hardened into claws. The reasons for the odd cut of her clothes became apparent now, as her new posture was pigeon-toed, walking on a set of hind claws. As Pyrrha watched, Summaiyi shrugged off her vest, exposing a pre-cut slit in the back of her shirt through which a pair of coppery wings unfurled, and another in her trousers, near the base of her spine from which a long, flat tail emerged. Her blonde hair clumped together to form hard spines while her upper and lower mandibles extended into a snout full of sharp teeth.

Pyrrha had only ever heard of dragonsired, so seeing one in the flesh was certainly a surprise. Nonetheless, it held no fear for her. Lives were at stake not the least of which were her and Jaune's. Without another thought, she dove into the fray.

Steel clashed with steel as the pair traded strikes and parries back and forth. Empowered by the Well, Pyrrha was more than a physical match for Summaiyi, but that advantage only managed to level the field as katars lacked the reach or the versatility of the hook swords. Shallow cuts and glancing bruises were all they managed to inflict in their skirmish until finally, in a flash of light, they were hurled apart.

Both women hit the ground in combat rolls that conducted them back to their feet. They didn't rush one another again. They couldn't: floating at the point from which they'd both been ejected was a glowing, ethereal symbol: the All-Piercing Eye of Denaii Lawgiver and its presence had locked their bodies in place, incapable of movement.

“Whatever quarrel you have here, your time of expressing it in Sol Sodotta ends now.” A tall figure in black strode purposefully into their midst. A hood concealed his face, but he carried a long staff topped by a crook in which hung a censor shaped like the All-Piercing Eye, emitting white smoke. Cleric Nekkio Ammorett surveyed the scene with hidden eyes. His invisible gaze fell on Jaune, who was still struggling to get to his feet.

“I can't say I'm happy to see you here.” His voice sounded tired, strained. “It seems that our little talk was a waste of time for one of us at least.” Jaune hung his head as the Cleric looked him over for injuries and after some time pressed his palm to the young man's head, filling his body with warmth as his wounds healed.

Nekkio moved on without another word, coming to Pyrrha next. “I know you spoke for the people here. The Walking Shrines are capable of relaying warnings of impending combat and once she learned of what was happening here, she notified me. While I thank you for your good intentions, I think it would be best if you and the young man leave town. Not tonight: it isn't our way to send strangers out into the freezing night, but if you leave at first light tomorrow, I think it would to be all our benefits.”

A quiet word released her from the hold of the symbol and like Jaune before her, she was subject to the Cleric's examination. Most of her wounds had healed, leaving only minimally light scars. The most recent ones—most prominently a five inch gash on her bicep—had stopped bleeding, but hadn't healed; the power from the Well Jaune had conjured into her having been spent. Once again, Nekkio provided her with a healing prayer from Denaii.

“I'm sorry.” Pyrrha said as her remaining wounds closed. “I should have confronted Jaune about what I heard immediately, but I was... a small bit indisposed from drink.” She avoided telling the whole story that she was still slightly off kilter—enough that she'd completely forgotten to use her magic during the fight. A single spell might have ended things before they started.

Nekkio shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. You are no more your companion's keeper than I am my sister's.” He gave her no time to argue, turning and walking toward Summaiyi.

The copper dragonsired glared up at him with inhuman intensity. “Keep your healing, lich-loved. I'll wear my scars as a reminder of this town and the evil it harbors.”

“That might satisfy you, but my god is wed to the Goodly Morn. It would be a greater evil then to turn by back on the suffering.” Nekkio didn't release the symbol's hold on her, but did place his hand atop her head, administering another prayer. Then he knelt before her.

“I heard second or third hand what happened to you as well. It would be a waste to tell you what I know of ghuls, I know. Even if you believed me, it wouldn't heal your heart knowing that the creature you destroyed really and truly thought it was your sister. If Denaii could grant me the power to heal your heart and mind, I would beg for it, but there is not prayer of power for that, only time and will.”

Summaiyi tried to strain against the magic keeping her in place to no avail. She didn't bother speaking, only looking at him with all the hate she could muster.

Nekkio sighed. “I've already sent for Master Logaire to come get you. I'm asking that he keep you restrained until the Troupe leaves. Something else I wish wasn't necessary.”

All the while, Jaune was sitting on the path half listening to what was going on around him. He couldn't bring himself to rise or do much of anything but sit there until the sound of approaching boots got his attention. “Jaune? Are you still hurt?”

He looked up into a pair of soulful green eyes that overflowed with compassion and worry for him. Pyrrha.

“I-I'm fine,” was all he could get out.

Pyrrha dropped into a crouch in front of him, keeping eye contact. As if guessing what was on his mind, she smiled slightly and said, “I don't know how much it amounts to in your mind, but I think you did the right thing. You were even quite the gallant hero... if you don't mind stories where the hero saves the dragon.”

Jaune stared into a face that was completely open and honest and utterly bereft of the accusation or disgust he'd been expecting. In many ways, that was worse. Things didn't improve when she extended a hand to help him up and he, without thinking, accepted it.

“Pyrrha... You were seriously hurt because of me. I just wanted to say...” he started.

She shook her head and turned to start walking back to the Vibrancy. “You made the right choice in the end. That's what matters. I made my choice too and I'll accept the the consequences of it.”

“Your choice?”

She hummed under her breath and turned back to face him. “If you're still willing to continue, I've decided that our travels together haven't ended just yet after all.” She offered another smile and struck off down the path again. “Sometimes you have trouble deciding what course of action is right, but you're a good man, Jaune Arc, and I'm very happy to know you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Pyrrha has an archenemy now. Summaiyi is more than a little inspired by Jet from Avatar: the Last Airbender and no, we have not seen the last of her. This was the warm-up fight for this rivalry, as Summaiyi wasn't in half-dragon form and Pyrrha was too buzzed to cast, so expect something more epic when they clash next.
> 
> The ghuls in her back story, by the way are based on the ghuls of Arabic myth, which ate corpses in the desert and stole their shape. On ere, they are mindless until they eat their first humanoid, at which point they gain all the memories and knowledge of the person (degraded based on how intact the body was) and honestly think they're going back to their life. Very existential.
> 
> This also brings us to the end of the Sol Sodatta Arc. I hope people enjoyed the little town undeath built and that it gets you thinking a little beyond prescribed alignment in your roleplaying. Speaking of roleplaying, there's a lot of D&D references here including one to a feat from the worst official &D&D book ever written. Happy hunting!


	12. The Cold Is Bitter As The Warmth IS Sweet

'The body moves, but the warmth is gone'.

Pyrrha hadn't really thought much of the old Red Nation saying before that night, but as they made their way back to the Vibrancy Inn and Jaune became more quiet and withdrawn, she finally understood what it meant. The conflict and being forced to make the choice he had seemed to have broken him. And it was clear that her attempt to encourage him that he'd chosen for the best meant nothing to him.

Her world felt just a little bit colder knowing that she had a hand in his current condition. If she'd only been able to pull herself together faster. If she'd found the right words to say to defuse the standoff with Summaiyi. If perhaps she'd just gone to find the priest herself and having him stop things rather than attempting a moral argument, thinks might be different.

They entered the inn in tense silence and Jaune surprised her by not heading for his bed, but rather the tub. With a sick of chalk, he drew a ritual circle at the bottom of the tin vessel and mumbled his way through filling it with water and heating it to a suitable temperature before drawing the curtain to separate the bath from the rest of the room.

Slowly and mechanically, Pyrrha took the time to change into loose fitting sleepwear before laying down and listening to the gentle splash as Jaune climbed into the hot water. Any other time, she'd be marveling at the human custom that seemed tailor made for a red dragon and eagerly hoping to take her turn with the tub once Jaune was done.

Now, she hardly gave that any thought, just lying there and racking her brain as to how to make things right.

For sixty years since leaving the caverns where she'd been born and reared alongside her broodmates, she hadn't even realized how alone she'd been. Most dragons were solitary creatures, and that was just how she thought it was meant to be.

Yes, she'd filled her time spying on demihumans who passed through her territory, but she'd only fleetingly entertained actually meeting and getting to get to know one. Then she did and... well she didn't want to go back to the way she was. Having someone to talk to, to share meals with, to help and in turn be helped by.

It had only been a few days, but she couldn't imagine going back to her cave and wrapping herself in solitude ever again. If the people of Sol Sodatta were representative of the valley, it wouldn't be difficult for her to find new companions, but she had a feeling that it would be a different story trying to replace Jaune in terms of personality and the easy friendship she hoped had grown mutually between them.

No solution came to mind as she started to drift off, only the fervent hope that her suggestion that their time together ending wouldn't turn out to be prophetic.

***  
Jaune woke her by gently shaking her shoulder the next morning. 'Morning', she thought, was a generous description for what she saw through the window as she roused. The sky was lightening just enough to to conceal the stars, but none of the gray light touched the ground or surrounding buildings. What little she could see was a thick but low-lying fog filling the streets.

“Good morning.” she said as she stretched, doing her best to sound upbeat.

“Morning.” Jaune mumbled, attempting the same but failing.

When Pyrrha turned, she found evidence that Jaune had gotten little if any sleep: their packs were by the door, secured and ready to be strapped on. He was also wearing some of his new clothes and armor. As she watched, he was facing away from her, scrutinizing his sword.

“Jaune... are you sure you're up to traveling?” She forced herself to stand despite the chains of sleep weighing heavily on her and started getting changed herself.

“We don't have a choice.” The words spilled out of his mouth seemingly without his intending to say them. He tensed for a bit before recovering and saying in a quiet, tone: “We're supposed to be out of here at first light, remember?”

He sheathed his sword in the old scabbard at his hip and took several cleansing breaths while running hi hands through his hair. “Pyrrha?” he began only to panic when, upon turning, he found her pulling her night shirt over her head. Spinning on his heel so fast it was a miracle he didn't wear out his boot, he focused on the opposite wall with fierce determination.

“Hmm?” came the reply. Pyrrha hadn't even noticed the little scene he'd caused.

“I... I didn't thank you for last night. For stepping in for me when that lady went berserk.” Briefly, something in the back of her head asked whether there was any significance to the fact that he hadn't spoke Summaiyi's name, but she never got that far thanks to the next words out of his mouth. “And I am. Very thankful. I just want you to know that what I'm going to ask you isn't coming from a place of being ungrateful or upset that you're a better fighter than me.”

“Well most of that was the diadem...” she babbled reflexively, feeling suddenly that she didn't want him to get where he was going with that line of thought.

But for the first time since they met, Jaune talked over her. “It's just that... next time you're in a position to put yourself at risk for me... please don't.”

The request was such a shock that Pyrrha was stunned to silence for almost a full minute during which Jaune went about tidying the room. When she finally recovered, the first thing she could say was a simple, “No.”

He paused in straightening the duvet on his bed, looking up at her with eyes bereft of surprise, but oppressed by something else that also made his carefully constructed neutral expression fall.

Now she was starting to process what he'd asked and for all Jaune's lack of emotion, Pyrrha was feeling hers boil over. More emphatically, she spoke out. “No, Jaune. I'm not going to stand by and let you get hurt if it comes to that again. What kind of person do you think I am if you think I would agree to that? Why would you ask it? Because you don't feel like you did the right thing last night and think you should be punished?”

When he flinched from the accusation, so did she. Evidently he hadn't been thinking about that but now was.

Her own reaction must have been just as evident, as Jaune' shoulder's slumped almost immediately and he raised his hands as it to try and ward off what he'd just said. “It's really got nothing to do with that. I'm still not sure if I feel very good about any of the things that did or didn't happen, but it's...” He struggled for a bit to put together an explanation before giving up. “I just don't want anyone else getting hurt on my account, okay?”

Of course it wasn't okay with Pyrrha, but she chose to drop the subject. May every god flay her in the Seven Interlocking Hells if she'd just stand idly by, but there wasn't much point in stirring up hurt feelings over it. She just indulged in the same silence as he was as they finished readying for their journey.

No one at all was in the common room when they passed through, and once outside, they found the stable boy asleep in an empty stall. Jaune left him with a handful of copper when he retrieved Gasten and with that, they were once more off into the wilderness, a knee-high fog swirling around them ominously.

As Sol Sodatta faded behind them, Jaune finally broke his silence. “We won't be walking the whole day. The hunting lodge is maybe six ours' walk. It'll be safer and more comfortable to hunker down there than risk getting hit by the blizzard trying to push for one of the towns along the lake shore. If it's particularly bad, we'll stay there tomorrow too, then push toward Musketti and then on to Croceatta.”

Reciting the intended itinerary seemed to improve his mood at least in some superficial way and Pyrrha did her best to encourage it.

“Croceatta is your home town, right?” Jaune grunted out an affirmative sound while extricating his foot from some underbrush he'd become snagged on. “Will be be spending any time there? You must want to see your friends and family.”

“Just family.” Jaune said, “Most of my friends... don't frequent towns, especially not since Lord Citraan's prods started riding out. But yeah, I guess I don't have much choice but to plan to stay in Croceatta a little while. I doubt you'll let me leave at all while the Planter's Festival is going on.”

That led into a lively discussion about all things involving the Planter's Festival; from the dances to the games, to the traditions and some fond memories of festivals past, both Planter's and other. Jaune went into detail about the various foods his neighbors were famous for and especially great detail about the specialties the Arc household tended to offer up from their left over-winter stores for the festival.

Pyrrha didn't know what a 'pickle' was or what it had to do with melon rinds, but she certainly wanted one by the time all was said and done, preferably if served with Martla Everedes's cream-filled pop-overs, which were Jaune's apparent favorites.

Despite his attention to sharing his enthusiasm with Pyrrha, Jaune never lost his focus on following landmarks toward his destination. They were following a formerly dry stream bed, just starting to be fed by melt-water, the brightest spot behind the uniform gray overcast still two hours or so from the noon hour, when he turned them off onto a game trail.

“Now I'll admit that the lodge isn't going to have everything the stone house offered—the hunters who use this place in late winter will have taken everything of theirs—but it has a glamour like I use at our camps to hide from the more dangerous things out here, and reasonably good beds with a nice big...”

He trailed off as they topped the last hill and the site of the lodge came into view.

Or rather the site of what remained of the lodge.

Once sturdy log walls had been consumed in flame, leaving scorched heaps and protruding support beams where they hadn't been completely reduced to ash. The stone chimney and hearth had crumbled but had not collapsed completely, becoming something of a gravestone for the former dwelling.

Jaune stopped in his tracks, transfixed at the sight. “No...” he whispered before breaking into a headlong run. Once or twice, he stumbled or tripped between the frozen, uneven ground and the roots threaded through it. It wasn't until he was at the bottom of the hill and in the clearing proper that his luck and footing finally gave out and he turned his foot over a stone, sprawling across the cold, compacted dirt.

He skidded to a rest almost face-to-face with the first corpse.

The scream he let out wasn't the most manly noise he'd ever let fly, but he'd just spent the day at Sol Sodatta, gotten expelled from said town, and had no guarantees the cadaver before him wasn't going to reach out and claw his face off.

But something else took exception to his intrusion and did try to claw its face off. A pertrosian orm—a stubby-legged black scaled creature that looked like an illustration of a dragon from a children's book where dragons frolicked through fields of flowers and taught children the value of sharing and friendship with its large eyes and round head—hopped up onto the dead man's chest and did its level best to prove it wasn't nearly as cute as it look at first by snarling with a mouth full of shredding teeth and flaring its red-fringed wings in a clear threat display.

Its little show of force was cut short by the sound of pounding boots and a deeper growl than the little orm could ever accomplish. Pyrrha, having abandoned Gasten and her pack at the bottom of the hill arrived and stared down the orm. Somehow, the creature could tell that its far larger, more powerful cousin was hidden behind those soft, human features and it beat a quick retreat to scrap with a group of other orms feeding on one of several other bodies lying about the clearing.

“Are you alright?” Pyrrha asked once she was sure the orm wouldn't try to get uppity again. She held out a hand to help Jaune up and, shaken, he took it.

Once he was back on his feet, he couldn't help to look back toward the ruins of the lodge. The frame of the door was still standing, if barely, while the battered remains of the door itself was ten feet away from it in the clearing. There was a badly burnt body lying partially on top of it.

“I-it's gone,” he said softly. “The lodge was here when my father was a little boy. We came here to hunt in the fall ever year before...” Swallowing roughly, he changed the subject. “I was counting on riding the blizzard out here. I... I wagered everything on it.”

Pyrrha tilted her head, studying his shocked expression closely. “Jaune?”

He refused to meet her eye. “Long story short? We're in trouble, Pyrrha. We're a day's travel from any town but Sol Sodatta and my idiocy got us kicked out of there.” As he spoke, he swayed lightly on his feet and rubbed his knuckles against his temples. “I don't know where else we can go—I've never had to scout out another shelter because the lodge has been here since the War.”

Green eyes scanned the clearing, noting the blasted pieces of the lodge, the dead men surrounding it, many pierced by crossbow quarrels save for those that looked to have been crushed or mangled by shrapnel from the lodge's wooden walls. Pyrrha frowned. “What happened here?”

“Huh?” Jaune asked, hardly having heard her over his own rising self-loathing. He looked in the direction she was looking, then at the dead man at his feet. Where it hadn't been eaten by orms, they still wore hardened leather armor with a very familiar leaf-and-peach icon stamped into the pectorals.

“These were Lord Citraan's men.” Curiosity piqued, he started to put together what he was seeing. “Infantrymen—none of them have any special insignia that I can see. They sieged the lodge. Maybe bandits or some other criminals were holed up inside?” Jaune shook his head as something didn't fit. “But none of these guys are mages. How did they burn the lodge down?”

Pyrrha took a few tentative steps toward the burnt structure. “I don't think they did. This building burned from the inside out.” In a few steps, she reached the remains of the door and the body lying next to it. They wore no armor and their burnt clothing had been torn apart by many sharp bits of wood and metal—shrapnel. “...And exploded from the looks of things.”

From behind her, there came a sound of rustling cloth and jangling metal. “Jaune?” She turned to find her traveling companion having turned the first dead man on his side, fumbling awkwardly at the buckle holding the pack on the man's back closed.

“What are you doing?”

“This lodge is far off the main roads and it just occurred to me that we didn't see any sighs of a large number of troops on the roads. These men were scouts, rangers... maybe outriders. They'd have been camping on their way out here. Maybe they have a ritual book, or a map of caves in the area... or something we can use to survive the storm.”

Pyrrha glanced down at the body in front of her, then to the lodge. As a creature of fire, she had a special sensitivity to flaer; not to the point of being able to read the shape of spells in it, but here, she markedly felt only the same amount of the energy of fire one would see in the presence of any other large fire—and not in the presence of a fire spell powerful enough to blast a person through a solid wood door.

“You aren't curious about what happened here?” She practically itched to find out. It was the same curiosity that originally led her to strike out with Jaune in the first place raising its head once again. For years, she'd listened to the fireside talk of caravaneers, adventurers and mercenaries that painted for her a world of mystery and intrigue. Now an opportunity to write her own such tale was before her, teasing her with its mystique.

“Oh, I am,” Jaune said, sounding distracted as the sound of rustling cloth attracted Pyrrha's attention again. He was frantically tossing aside wrapped rations and tools as he hunted for something he could use. “But I'm more concerned about the two of us living long enough for it to matter.”

That was enough to make Pyrrha's little fantasy bubble collapse back to reality. “A blizzard was coming and they weren't just without shelter, they were exposed.

Jaune reached the bottom of the pack and let out a long groan of despair. Briefly, his eyes flitted to the dead man and Pyrrha registered guilt—likely over rifling through the possessions of the deceased. Then he lifted his gaze to meet hers and the sheer hauntedness she saw in those blue eyes gave her chills.

It only lasted a moment before he broke eye contact under the guise of getting to his feet and dusting himself off. “If you change right now and fly nonstop, could you get to your cave before the storm makes it over the mountains?”

“I-I don't know,” she admitted. “It would be close, I suppose. But then I've never carried anyone before. We could be caught in the air and that would be worse than being caught here in the woods.”

“But you could make it if you went alone.” It wasn't really a question and Jaune was careful to keep his face turned away from her as he moved to the next body, waving his coat to scare away the congregating orms.

“That it absolutely out of the question,” Pyrrha said firmly, marching across the clearing toward him, coming up to stand behind him. “The last time I left you behind, you were almost eaten.”

Jaune refused to turn around. “I knew what the risks were than and I know what they are now. If there's a chance one of us can survive...” He started to crouch next to the body, only for Pyrrha to grab him by the shoulders and turn him around to face her.

“Only a chance.” She intoned flatly, her face just a few inches from his. “We don't truly know when the storm will hit or which track it might take. Maybe I reach my lair safely, or maybe it will arrive faster than we thought and I'll be caught in the air. My wings might freeze, or the wind might just knock me out of the sky, or... or anything.” She took a deep break, her grip unconsciously tightening to the point that Jaune groaned.

She relaxed her grip, murmuring an apology before calming herself enough to say what she wanted to. “Jaune... I do not want to die alone. A-and I do not wish for you to die alone either.”

A brief flash of mixed sadness and anger flitted across Jaune's countenance. “So we're just going to die together now? I don't see how dying next to the person who caused all this makes things better. Besides, you don't have to go to your cave—you can fly back to Sol Sodatta. They might let you back in if I'm not around.”

Despite his words, Pyrrha refused to let got of him. “Whether they do or not, do you really believe I would abandon you like that?”

“It it meant you got to live, then yes,” Jaune replied bluntly.

“Somehow I doubt you'd make that choice if it was my life in place of yours.” Pyrrha finally took her hands off him and turned partially away from him, her serious look turning more coy. “Besides, I have the utmost faith that we are not going to die.” Before Jaune could ask why she thought that, she checked all her nerves and doubts, and offered him a reassuring smile. “You've said as much yourself: you are highly capable at woodcraft. If anyone can figure out a way to survive this storm, I believe it is you.”

The words seemed to have the opposite effect on Jaune for a moment. He cringed, staring down at his shoes. “How can you be so sure? Especially when I've already screwed up so much.”

Pyrrha pursed her lips. “Because I've seen your skill at this in action. I've heard your stories. By the shell of my egg, I know this world and I know that you've been able to survive in it alone for weeks at a time. Between your training, your knowledge, and your Grandmother's ritual book, I'm sure you're more than capable.” She smiled awkwardly and added, “And you also have me; my strength, my magic—whatever you need me to do, just point me in that direction.”

So earnest were her words that Jaune couldn't help but finally make eye contact. There was such trust in his eyes that it cut through his own self loathing and doubts. “R-right. Um... I guess you can help me search the bodies. I suppose we don't have time to make a proper pyre for them, but I can use my magic to bury them.” He inclined his head toward the ruins of the lodge. “After that, we can see if anything survived the fire. It doesn't look like it, but maybe there's something we can use in...”

He trailed off, slapping one palm against the side of his head. “Oh burn my cretin soul,” he muttered.

“What?” Pyrrha asked.

“I'm so stupid. I saw the place burned and thought... I just figured it was just my regular old penchant for failure; my bloody awful luck. I didn't even think about.” He shook his head in utter incredulity.

He started to pace, but Pyrrha imposed herself in front of him, stopping him but placing a palm to his chest. “Jaune, what in the Seven Interlocking Hells are you talking about?”

Jaune shook his head again, laughed, then in an impulsive instant, threw his arm around her, his laugh becoming even more boisterous and carefree. “It has a basement!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually expected to include the night of the blizzard in this chapter, but this turned out to be so much larger and that part is going to be next chapter now. Here we start to see the extent of Jaune's issues in this AU. He's down to zero self-worth and we're about to see why. Hint: it's not something as shallow as him being underpowered. Also hint: that self-loathing goes away when he realizes he hasn't killed them both.
> 
> We also see a bit more of Pyrrha's fondness for Jaune. Not love. Fondness. Slow burn is slow guys.
> 
> It was important for me to make it clear that she does have an out. She really could fly back to Sol Sodatta on her own and be fine, but instead she hangs back and puts her faith in Jaune. He is, after al, her first friend and one who she's seen in action being competent. It's not just the power of friendship, but the power of logic.
> 
> There is another reason she doesn't leave and we'll get into that next chapter.
> 
> Finally, I want to address something some people have been saying about the Sol Sodatta Arc. I wasn't trying to make Jaune 'wrong' here. Her didn't come out of this loving undead use or anything, and while using volunteers is something I'm pointing out doesn't have practical immorality, they also do this to anyone who attacks them. So they aren't completely in the right either. We will be seeing 'feral' undead later and they're a bad thing for far less stupid reasons than 'negative energy and... boo.'.


	13. Truth is Warmth

Dragons, it will come as a surprise to no one, are extraordinarily intimidating. This fact holds true even when the dragon in question is only the size of a horse and doing her best to appear attentive and interested while one is fumbling along with a half-remembered funeral ceremony.

At least that's what was going through Jaune's mind as he watched Pyrrha watching him from across the pyre they'd constructed for the dead from in and around the former lodge.

The dragoness had taken her true form in order to move a heavy wooden beam that had fallen over the trapdoor leading to the basement Jaune had recalled. Due to the pain involved in shifting back and forth, she'd chosen to put off resuming human form, finding reasons to put her tremendous strength to work; pulling down young trees for the pyre, clearing dry brush from a suitable place in the clearing with her claws, and even doing her bit to frighten off the orms trying to scavenge the corpses.

It was the first time Jaune had ever seen her clearly in the light of day. Woodcuts and illustrations in books hadn't done any justice to the power and majesty of the draconic form; pentagonal scales the color of fresh blood with a opalescent sheen when the light hit them just right; gleaming, white horns that marched in rows along her brow line, eventually giving way to a pair of larger sweeping ones; an arrow-shaped calcification at the end of her tail, and musculature that reminded him more of a hunting cat than a reptile.

And yet, even in so alien an appearance, he was still reminded of the woman he knew. Maybe it was the inquisitive, green eyes or the oddly prim way she held herself. Even if he hadn't seen the change (or had her clothes carefully folded on the ground next to him because she was afraid of damaging them), he imagined he could still identify his Pyrrha from any other red dragon.

He shut those thoughts off tot he side. The deceased deserved his proper attention.

Really, they deserved an actual priest saying both the right words and performing the correct rites, but he was the best they were going to get, so he needed to do his best. Which was swiftly becoming awkward. The priest of Hessa back at Croceatta gave rights based on the god the departed revered most or barring that, one appropriate to the entire Vishnari Pantheon.

Jaune had mostly memorized the Denaiian rites, but it felt wrong talking about the soldiers doing their duty with honor and righteousness while at the same time interring the people they burned to death inside the lodge. Plus, while preparing the bodies of the two people from inside the building, they'd found evidence both he and Pyrrha recognized as being from Auvenshadar, the desert kingdom on the other side of the eastern mountains. The peoples of the desert were known to practice grajin'tecma, which translated from the draconic tongue was more commonly known as dragon worship.

Neither one of them was comfortable with that, so all the dead received the same generic words.

“...and so we offer a plea on their behalf to the gods; to relinquish their souls to the Afterworld and their long journey back to the Well as we commit their flesh to the fire. Shelter them in this life and what follows. Look upon them fairly and with compassion. Guide them as we are all to be guided. Embrace them as we all need to be embrace. In your name, we serve.”

Jaune finished and and raised his head and looked to Pyrrha, giving a her a somber nod.

She hesitated, her eyes darting from him to the pyre. “Are you certain you want me to do this?” At no time was she ever shy about using her flames, but given recent history, she wasn't feeling especially comfortable about immolating demihuman corpses in front of Jaune. Really, she wasn't quite so clear on how incineration was better than animating them with magic.

Unaware of the reason for her reluctance, Jaune just nodded. “Yeah. We can't just leave them out here to be scavenged, and I guess we could just bury them, but with this many people dying violently here, there's going to be a lot of nekras gathered here; they could rise as zombies or ghosts or something.” He cringed just saying that adding, “And even if you don't mind zombies, we don't want them attacking us tonight.”

Pyrrha considered the logic and couldn't find anything to argue with. “Very well. You might wish to step back though: my fire tends to spread.”

After giving her companion time to move to a safer vantage point along with her clothes, Pyrrha drew in a deep breath and tensed muscles in her chest and gullet. A fizzy warmth started to grow in her rib cage, below her lungs as normally separated chemicals mixed and became primed. With the flame properly stoked, Pyrrha lowered her head to be level with her shoulders, and exhaled forcefully.

Instead of the tiny gobbet of burning spittle Jaune had seen before, Pyrrha unleashed a stream of clear liquid that ignited on contact with the air, hosing the pyre with flames that clung to the wrapped corpses and ran like warm honey, spreading fire wherever it went.

Within seconds, the pyre was fully alight, a pillar of smoke rising into the overcast sky.

“I only just realized how seriously out matched I was.” Jaune said quietly. “I mean, I pretty much expected to die, but...”

“But you did survive,” Pyrrha was quick to interrupt those thoughts, trotting over to where he was standing. In her haste, she forgot that she wasn't in her human form and lifted a fore-claw to place on his shoulder. The resultant yelp of of surprise and fear from an unaware Jaune made her flinch. It didn't take her long to look down at her claw and realize the problem. “Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to catch you off guard like that.”

Jaune feigned an easy chuckle. “N-no, it's okay. I was just... just...”

Pyrrha carefully put her claw down and restrained herself from idly drawing circles in the snow. “Jaune, I was only trying to defend myself back then. You know by now that I would never hurt you, right?”

This of course cause Jaune to panic and almost fumble the clothes in his arms. “No! Wait, I mean yes I know that. I just wasn't expecting um...”

“Right. I understand.” Pyrrha drew in a deep break and changed. As before, the transformation was accompanied by wet pops and snaps as her body contorted and compressed. The pain wracked her, but she kept her jaw clenched to hold in whatever groans tried to escape her.

For all she'd been told that changing would become easier the more she used it, she was fairly sure this one was worse than before. Even when it was over, it felt like all her energy had fled, leaving her swaying on her feet, the cold air pressing in like an icy vice.

Immediately thereafter though, a familiar cloak was thrown over her shoulders and an arm wrapped around her, holding her steady despite gravity and weariness demanding she continue her trip to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Jaune's voice came from somewhere close to her ear.

She nodded, accepting his help and keeping upright. “I'll be fine in a moment when the pain passes.”

“I'm sorry if what just happened made you think you had to change back. You just startled me is all.”

“It's fine. I was going to have to change again if I wanted to fit in the cellar. Speaking of, is there anything else we need to do before we go down?”

Jaune shook his head. “Aside from coaxing Gasten down the stairs? No. I can handle that. Let's get you down there and by the fire. The cold probably isn't helping you either.” He started to lead her back toward the remains of the lodge. With the aches and muscle spasms still plaguing her, Pyrrha let him.

RWBYRWBYRWBY

The cellar of the hunting lodge wasn't a place anyone would want to spend the night in even the most idea situations. For decades since it had been established, it had been used by generations of hunters as a place to skin, butcher, prepare and store their kills. The blood and stench of death had soaked into the walls in a way that even the intense heat of the fire above couldn't remove.

Getting Gasten to even set foot on the top stair ended up proving impossible and Jaune was forced to unburden the animal and set him loose in the forest. Wild ornises were capable of living outside during the winter, so Jaune hoped his faithful pack animal could last one night.

That left him and Pyrrha alone in the less than charming environs of the lodge's cellar. Dug deep and surrounded by stone, the chamber had survived the fire stark but intact. Rusty hooks hung from chains bolted into the ceiling, an old wooden table and bench sat in the corner, warped by heat until they were unusable, and everywhere were dark stains in the bare rock that told the tale of the grizzly but necessary work that went on down there.

Pyrrha tried not to look too closely at them as she watched the stew bubble away in the camp stove. Jaune had performed a quick ritual from his grandmother's book that rapidly heated the metal pot without a fire. Occasionally, she would glance up from that to watch Jaune's progress as he turned his attention to the trap door at the top of the stairs.

Once they'd removed the broken beam blocking it, they found that the actual door had been destroyed in the fire. That was useful in the sense that it gave them easy access, but less so because it was a gaping hole for frigid air and snow to blow in.

Jaune originally proposed putting a tarp over it, but by the time they'd performed funeral rites for the dead, the storm was visible coming over the mountains and both of them could see the trees being whipped by a powerful wind that would have made short work of any tarp.

So the new solution was to literally seal them in by carefully raising the stone stairs to block the passage. Careful being the key word, seeing as it was entirely possible to punch the stone up through the tile floor, sending it crashing down on top of them. The ritual could normally be dashed off in a few minutes, but Jaune was just getting finished drawing the final formulae onto the magic circle.

When the last line was scribed, Jaune murmured a few short syllables and the chalk circle shimmered briefly before fading away. The stairs shivered minutely before the top four began to rise with a deep grinding sound. One by one, they extended until they made contact with the space left by the trap door and stopped, the last step sealing away both the cold air and the gray light of the sun above.

The basement was plunged into darkness.

“Oh luminous jewel of the heavens, it is by your grace that we see and grow. Lend us now a shard of your greatness that we may follow the path of light.” A glowing sphere appeared in the air above Jaune's extended palm, briefly shifting through myriad colors before setting on a pale yellow that mimicked sunlight. With a slight wave of his hand, he sent the ball of light floating to the center of the room.

“Well,” he said, traversing the bottom few stairs, “We're sealed in now. Hopefully I can get it open in the morning without killing us.”

His tone made it sound like a joke, but it also sounded forced. Pyrrha cast a worried look in his direction while pulling a spoon out of her pack to stir the stew. “Why do I speak like that?”

Jaune stopped halfway to her. After taking far too long to formulate a reply, he asked, “Speak like what?”

“You make little comments all the time; implying you're a burden or worse a danger. I understood when you thought we weren't going to have a shelter, but this isn't the first time. This morning you said you didn't want anyone to be hurt on your behalf 'again'.” She finished stirring the stew and tapped the spoon on the edge of the camp stove to shake off the excess stuck to it. Then she looked up at him with eyes filled with concern, curiosity and most of all compassion. “Jaune, what happened?”

He dithered a moment, caught in her gaze. The sad thing was that he thought he'd been concealing it during his time traveling with Pyrrha. It was why he'd hoped to avoid Croceatta until Pyrrha's excitement about demihuman festivals weakened his resolve. Now he was feeling even more of that resolve slipping away.

His shoulders slumped and he let out a soft sigh, starting to pace. “I... Look, I'm not sure you'd even understand. The world is a lot more deadly for humans and other mortals than it is for dragons. Even a nice walled village like I come from is constantly under attack by things. Spirit beasts come once or twice a year, zombies rise from the swamps to the south of us, and then there's the prods from Lord Citraan demanding tribute or they'll set bandits on us. Everyone needs to be able to do their jobs and fight. Otherwise it doesn't work.”

By this point, Jaune had reached the the barrels and leaned on one of them, facing the blank stone of the wall. He hung his head and groaned. “The thing is, I can't do either. My family's business is running the forge and raising livestock. Ornises are the smallest and best tempered thing we keep and I can barely control just Gasten focusing my full attention on him. And fighting...”

Pushing off from the barrel, his turned to face Pyrrha again though he avoided eye contact. “I was what they call a sickly child most of my life. Couldn't even swing a sword, much less train with one. I spent that time reading pretty much every book in the village and trying to learn magic.” Slowly, he made his way over to the opposite side of the camp stove from Pyrrha and sank into a sitting position. “You've seen how that turned out.”

Pyrrha wanted to assure him that his spellcasting had proven helpful multiple times, but decided not to interrupt him when he was finally opening up. Instead, she pulled out two bowls and spoons and started filling them.

“Eventually,” Jaune continued, accepting a bowl from Pyrrha but not eating, “I got better, but by then I was at the age where any other kid would start working at their family's trade and... I couldn't. All I was good for was making deliveries around the village.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Funny thing was, I actually thought I was being useful. Reality didn't hit until I was around fourteen.”

“What happened then?”

“A spirit beast. A greater beast called Ammaizo the Desolation. It was a huge centipede... thing with horns and poison stingers on tendrils. For the first time in my life, the walls of Croceatta were breached. You never grew up in a village, so you don't know, but that means everyone fights. Everyone: the old, the sick—anyone that can hold a weapon. Every other child in Croceatta grew up learning to defend themselves... but not me. Not that it stopped me from trying.

He sat his bowl aside untouched. “Ammaizo was tearing through the village, tearing through everything. Somehow, I got ahead of him and like an idiot, I thought I knew better than all the defenders from the walls, all the adults who knew better. See, the books say a spirit beast can't heal from burns. I knew the basic fireball spell, so I decided I was going to cast it right down his throat.” Scrubbing one hand through his hair, Jaune shook his head at his youthful naivete. “Step one was to get him to get his attention so he'd try and eat me—y'know, thus opening his mouth.”

“Jaune!” Pyrrha found herself saying, forgetting for a second that the danger being described was safely in the past. Too late she realized her mistake and covered her mouth with her hand. “I'm sorry. Please continue.”

Her embarrassed expression and genuine embarrassment briefly brought a smile to his face. “Yeah, I wasn't that bright.” The smile vanished as he added, “And it cost my father dearly. He saw what I was doing and ran to get me out of the way. He did, but Ammaizo stung him in the process. The... the venom paralyzed his left leg from the hip down. Our local priest couldn't fix it—no one's been able to fix it after all this time.”

Wringing his hands together, Jaune choked down his rising emotion. “It was my fault, Pyrrha. My father was one of the strongest defenders in the village; his sword has slain more undead and bandits than any other weapon in Croceatta since my grandmother's magic. Now he can barely get around on his own and it's all because of me.”

Pyrrha set her own bowl aside and slipped around the camp stove beside him. Only when she reached him did she realize she had no idea what to do to comfort him. Talking seemed to help before, so she gave that a try. “Jaune, it wasn't you who hurt your father, it was the spirit beast. And you certainly can't blame yourself for not single-handedly defeating a spirit beast, especially a greater beast. Even the most powerful dragons fear them and won't fight them if they don't have to.”

“You're wrong,” Jaune said tersely. “Maybe that's the worst thing that's happened around me, but this kind of thing happens a lot to me. The old bard back in town was right: I've been bad luck my whole life; accidents, spooked animals, things falling apart... that's what my life's been.” His voice have been growing more fervent until that moment dropped to a sullen monotone. “What happened to my dad was just the last straw. I gave my family the excuse that I was taking on all the long-distance deliveries for my father, but I was also really visiting some of the people who live outside the villages and learning woodcraft from them. The whole idea was that I'd be good enough at living in the wild eventually so I could just... never come back eventually.”

Something in that made Pyrrha blink. “Wait, but you told me when we first met that you were going to use the money from the bounty to move your family out of the Valley.”

“Yeah, my family. Not me.” Jaune stared straight ahead, hands clasped in front of him. “When I heard about the bounty, I decided that was going to be my last chance. Make everything better or...” He swallowed hard, “Sink or swim.”

“Sink or...” Pyrrha's eyes widened in horror. She'd always known he'd understood how terribly mismatched he'd been, but not how accepting he'd been of the likely consequence. Then everything else clicked into place: how he'd sent her on ahead and faced the ospreshrike, how he'd thrown himself before Summaiyi's swords to save her, and even back at the very beginning when he'd given her the heat conserving cloak in the freezing cold. What she'd seen before as noble sacrifices took on a darker light knowing that his Plan B had always been his own demise.

Jaune let out a startled yelp and Pyrrha acted on pure instinct, throwing her arms around him. “Maybe I don't know what it's like being human,” she said into his shoulder, “but I do know that losing you wouldn't make things better for your family even if you were bad luck. I've only known you for a few days and I'd hate to see anything happen to you, so I can only imagine how devastated your family would be, coin or no coin.”

“You can't be serious,” Jaune stammered, unsure of what to do. “Can you honestly say that being stuck in a freezing hole that smells like cooked blood after being run out of a town is better than being safe in your lair with a nice bed of treasure?”

Pyrrha huffed. “As little as I know about being human, you know just as little about being a dragon. As a whole, we aren't social creatures... but I'm beginning to think I am. That cave has always been a lonesome place—and there's a reason I spend so much time wandering the passes looking for mortals to spy on.” She finally released him, sitting back so she could look him in the eye. “As long as we're telling truths, I was using you as an excuse to leave my lair and travel. Shapeshifting can only do so much when one knows nothing but stories about how things work in civilization.”

She gave him a shame-faced look before continuing. “I promise you that I really will do everything I can to make our quest a success. However, I need a promise in return.”

“W-what kind of promise?” Jaune scrubbed the side of his face with the heel of his hand to try and cover his discomfort.

Pyrrha caught his eye and held it with adamant conviction. “I want you to give up seeking death. I understand that our world is a dangerous one, but there is a difference between protecting one another and taking extra chances because you don't care whether you live or not. You may not think anyone else cares for your survival, but I do. And... and for all you know, we dragons may have a means to revive the dead, so it won't work anyway.”

With that, she folded her arms and turned away as if that ended the conversation.

They sat in silence for more than a minute as Jaune turned what she'd just said over in his head. When he finally did speak up, he did so while staring straight ahead at the still bubbling stew in the camp stove. “You know, I never really put a lot of thought into why you even came up with the idea of s traveling together. I just thought it had to do with dragons liking treasure or something. It never even crossed my mind that you might have just wanted to travel with someone or maybe just have a friend. And I really didn't expect my... problems... to affect you so much. Uh, I don't know if it'll make you feel better or not, but it isn't like I want to die or anything. I was just kind of resigned to the idea that if it happened, some good would come out of it.”

He hesitated at the next part of what he wanted to say, hoping it wouldn't be taken the wrong way. For this, he actually did look her in the eye. “I promise you though; from here on out I'll do my best to... y'know, not... die. You won't have to be alone as long as I can help it.”

Pyrrha offered him a shy smile. “I thank you for that. Though I hope by the time we reach our objective you'll find more value in your life than that.”

Jaune fiddled with his fingers and offered only a half nod to that before getting to his feet. “Look, I'm not feeling all that hungry, so I think I'll just get to work making up our sleeping arrangements for tonight.” He looked to the now blocked trap door. “We might have kept out the wind, but bare stone gets incredibly cold. We're going to have to use every trick I know to keep warm tonight.”

He moved over to their packs and started pulling out blankets, cloaks and tarps.

“To make best use of what we have and to conserve heat, it would be best if we slept under all the covers together.” The words came out before he really thought about them, but he quickly amended, “That is if you're comfortable with that. I understand if you wouldn't be. I was a little frazzled the first time I had to do it—but that was even worse since there were like six of us all piled up on top of each other under a bunch of furs.” At that point he realized he was rambling and closed his mouth.

Pyrrha chuckled. “For the first ten years of my life, I slept in a big tangle of twenty or so brood siblings, so I can relate.” She shrugged. “Besides, we've slept within a hand-span of each other all this week save for last night. I don't see anything to be uncomfortable over.”

Somehow the fact that she wasn't uncomfortable made Jaune slightly so himself. He couldn't really explain it even to himself, but he kept that to himself, finding a corner far from the trap door and setting down a tarp before starting to layer on blankets and anything else they could use as cover. The day was coming to a close, but a long, cold night was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've found that there was a lot more information to be doled out at the lodge than I expected. This was originally a single fluffy scene of these two sharing blankets in the cold night and it ballooned up to a ton of truth-telling and foreshadowing that's going to take a third chapter to finish off. I've decided to give all three 'Warmth' themed titles and calling it an arc leading up to the Croceatta Arc.
> 
> We finally get to the core of Jaune's problem and it links back to what I said long ago: Jaune isn't badass enough to be a farmer on Ere. His family farms Gastornises as the smallest critters. Just wait to see what else they grow there. One hint: they're one of the original Mighty Morphin Power Rangers totems and not a creature seen in Skyrim. Also aurouchs. We'll throw in some aurouchs.
> 
> On Pyrrha's end, don't worry, I'm not using 'you ended my loneliness' as a reason for her to start feeling for Jaune. I don't like that trope because liking someone just because they were a convenient warm body is the saddest thing ever. This is there more to explain that she actually is unusual among dragons in even wanting companionship. If the Red Nation was an actual country, it would have a population density of about one per ten square miles and would still consider it stiflingly overcrowded.
> 
> That said, don't expect either of them to just openly say 'I love you because...'. I'm personally annoyed by that sort of thing because love happens. It isn't something where you know the second the switch flips.
> 
> Finally, I know some parts at the start of this might seem throwaway, but they're very important to the larger plot. Keep this in mind for later!


	14. Comfortable Warmth

With a little prodding and the logic that eating the warm stew would help him feel more warm through the night, Pyrrha managed to convince Jaune to eat before turning in. After their long discussion earlier, she'd feared he would clam up during the meal, but instead he rambled on about this and that the entire time, never staying on one subject for very long.

The variety of his experiences and sheer number of people that passed through his life fascinated Pyrrha. Where she'd existed for seven-fold the number of years he'd had, he'd lived that much if not more. It made her wonder if all dragons wasted their long lives as she had, or worse if she'd actually been unusually extroverted in her forays out to observe the various travelers along the local passes.

She didn't want that to be true, and even if it were, she didn't want that to be true for her any more. It had struck her a few nights ago that she'd just started becoming used to having someone to talk to—to hearing the sound of her own voice out loud. Going back to a life of silence punctuated by the shriek and wet snap of prey or the jingle of coins whenever she rolled over.

A mild shiver traveled down her back, making her aware of the temperature starting to drop precipitously outside. The spell heating the camp stove was of some help, but it wasn't going to be for long. She hugged herself and flicked her gaze over to the nest of tarps, blankets and clothing Jaune had constructed. “I think it might be time to retire for the night.”

Jaune hunched his shoulders and curled in a little on himself and after a second Pyrrha realized he'd been trying to conceal how much the cold had been getting to him until she showed signs of it. A light chuckle escaped her lips as she got to her feet.

“So,” she asked, wandering over to the corner where the Jaune had built the little nest and gestured to it. “You're the expert at retaining warmth in the cold; how are we meant to do this?”

Following close behind her, Jaune shrugged. “It's not that difficult. People tell stories about how you have to strip and sleep naked, but that's for people who're already near to freezing to death. We're just trying to retain our heat and our clothes will help with that. The important thing is we tuck the edges of our covers under our bodies.”

He glanced away from her at the mention of removing their clothes and she did him the courtesy of doing the same. She wasn't completely ignorant about the laws of attraction among demihumans and she'd been trying to be more thoughtful about keeping herself covered in human form. That said, there was something about Jaune's reactions and the fact that it was her that was eliciting them from him that she really liked.

“I sort of thought it would be more complicated than that,” she admitted.

Jaune shrugged. “Keeping warm is pretty simple. Not like identifying plants or hiding your presence.” He knelt by the vast mound of covers to turn them back, but then inclined his head, offering to let Pyrrha get in first.

“Maybe you could teach me some of that in our travels,” she said lightly as she did so. At first she tried to slide in on her stomach, her customary sleeping position, but even as she did so it felt as if she was taking up a lot of space in the little nest, so she turned on her side facing Jaune.

“Yeah, I could do that. We'll certainly have time after Croceatta.” He slid in after her, trying to position himself on his back but soon discovered the same problem Pyrrha had. For a moment, he started to turn on his side to face Pyrrha but thought better of it, turning so that his back was to her instead. The last thing he did before pulling the covers over him was release his control of the mage light, plunging the room into darkness.

For Pyrrha, it was more like all the color faded out, leaving a world of dim shapes in her night vision. She found herself staring at the messy hair on the back of Jaune's head in silence, trying to think of something to say. Jaune's proximity was—to use a word she'd been using in her head more and more over the past days—intriguing. Humans had a salty, musky sort of scent as opposed to the mossy, spicy and metallic smell of other dragons. It wasn't bad in her opinion, especially in its variation.

Jaune, for example had a certain amount of grassy and cool notes to his personal scent she couldn't place. Master Logaire had an undertone of brass and wood. Vivae and her priestly brother smelled of very little but salt and dust.

Something she was noticing for the first time though entranced her other senses and made her hand temporarily act on its own, rising from her side to quest across the narrow gap between them and settle on Jaune's bare lower arm. “Ejaite-oe,” she murmured.

Jaune flinched, first at the touch, then at the sharp, hissing syllables being spoken behind him. “Um... what?”

In the dark, Pyrrha's eyes widened upon realizing what she'd done. Evidently she'd been more drained from changing shape twice in a day than she'd thought. On top of that, the emotional strain of their talk was taking its toll as well, leaving her slightly out of it now that she finally started to react.

Thanking the gods that it was dark and Jaune's back was to her, concealing how flustered she was, she took what felt like far too long to answer. “I... well in draconic it means... 'you're warm'.”

In the darkness, she imagined she heard Jaune blinking in confusion. “I'm warm? You're a lot warmer than I am. Cozy even.”

“Well yes,” she replied, “but for my kind there are different kinds of warmth and different words for that warmth. Ejaite-gra is the heat of fire: it thrashes erratically and burns hungrily. Ejaite-ohu is the heat of lava: steady but also overbearing and intense. Ejaite-hec is the heat of prey: deep and satiating that comes in bursts as the heart beats with exertion.” Unconsciously, she spread her fingers over his arm. “Ejaite-oe on the other hand is the heat of...” she hesitated, “...comfortable warmth. Like being in a safe, secure place where the heat radiates evenly and steadily.”

She decided against a more accurate descriptions and comparisons: how it felt sleeping in a knot of tiny bodies with her broodmates in the shelter of her brood-mother's tail, or in her lair when the coals were banked just right. Every red and presumably gold dragon sought that feeling. Equilibrium. Comfort. Home. Humans might take that the wrong way. She might take it the wrong way if she said it out loud.

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Comfortable.

Really it felt unimaginable to Jaune that anyone could possibly feel comfortable with him—even if it apparently had more to do with his metabolism than who he was. He cut off that line of thought sharply, reminding himself that that just wasn't true. He and Pyrrha had been comfortable with each other almost since the start. Somehow they'd just fallen into an easy pattern together; sharing meals and stories, enjoying one another's company.

A cruel little thorn in the back of his mind suggested that he now knew they were both lonesome souls and any warm body would have done, but he squashed that too. Over the years, he'd spent time with a number of people; some he'd gotten on well with, some he hadn't, but it was different with Pyrrha. Better. Of all the people he'd met in the Valley, he would choose time with Pyrrha above all the others without a thought.

But that nasty sting in his head persisted. Yes, he knew how he felt, but who knew what was going through her mind. It reminded him that she wasn't human. Not even, it added when his thoughts turned to all the couples he knew who were of different races, demihuman. Dragons were something different from the mortal races; more powerful. Better. They might not even have the same view of the world that demihumans had.

“I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” Pyrrha said, making Jaune realize he'd been silent far too long. Her hand started to withdraw, but in reflex, he trapped it with his other hand.

“N-no. It's fine. I was just... listening to the storm.” Even with the thick stone protecting them, the raging winds outside were still clearly audible. “It's a pretty strong one.”

Pyrrha's hand stilled under his. “Oh. Still...”

There had been many times n his past when Jaune wanted to slap himself for the avenues his self-loathing had dragged him to. Those days were certainly coming to a middle. After hearing the trepidation in her voice, he cursed himself for ever doubting that Pyrrha of all people didn't have the same emotions as anyone else did. Dragon or no, she was a person; a person who loved stories and wanted to get to know every aspect of life in the Valley, and who by her own admission cared about him. How dare he ever entertain even the idea that her mindset might be alien.

This time he kept himself from thinking too long and rolled over so he was on his back. “It's fine, Pyrrha,” he said quietly, “Hey, seeing as you're so warm in general, I'm just glad I could help a little.”

“Are you sure it doesn't bother you?” When he turned his head to look at her, he could see the luminous circles of her irises shining back at him. It was obviously his imagination, but he thought he could see them shimmering with something like guilty hope.

“I'm sure,” he said, doing his best to sound encouraging.

Slowly, as if expecting him to revoke the invitation, Pyrrha scooted closer until the space between them was gone and her arm was stretched out across his chest, her cheek crushed against his shoulder. A hum of satisfaction vibrated his whole arm as she settled in and her eyes closed, the pale glow of her irises disappeared.

They reappeared a few breaths later, locking onto his. “This isn't something a human would do, is it?” She sounded ashamed.

“Probably not in this context,” he admitted. “But it's not like it matters, right? It's just you and me here.”

“It doesn't matter to you?”

He started to shrug, but realized it would jostle her head. “Pyrrha, it's not like I forget you're not a human just because you look the part. You are still Pyrrha though, and any... oddities are just part of who you are.” A pang of guilt hit him saying that. Sometimes he did forget what she really was, and at times like that very moment he wished she really was human; that the context of things were different.

The lie felt worth it when another happy little hum vibrated his arm. “I like your oddities too,” she replied lightly. Her eyelids started to droop and her breath started to slow. The arm draped over his body gave him a brief squeeze. “Good night, Jaune.”

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“Good night, Pyrrha.”

With her eyes closed, Pyrrha's ability to sense the temperature was heightened. Outside, the blizzard was still at full strength, held at bay by the thick basalt walls. Said walls had already surrendered a great deal of heat, as had the room at large, leaving she and Jaune floating in their own bubble of warmth.

Part of her, something foreign within she didn't recognize, made her wish they did this more often. Yes, she knew that Ejaite-oe was something her kind sought out, but she was starting to think that was only a small part of it and that a larger part of it was Jaune himself.

After the previous night and following morning made her worry that they would be going their separate ways and then her horror upon realizing the truth behind his 'noble sacrifices', it was just good to be reassured that he was still there; still safe.

Losing him—by death or by a breaking of their bond—would have been devastating. Not just because she'd have lost a guide in the world of the mortal races, but because given the other people she'd met, she already knew she just... fit... better with Jaune than others.

She loved the long talks they'd shared, the things he'd shone her and the understanding he'd given her situation as they'd journeyed together. Could someone else offer that? She had no idea, but she didn't care to find out. It was Jaune who had value to her.

A languid smile spread across her face as she started to drift off. Just before sleep overcame her, she wondered whether a dragon's hoard could include people as the treasures.

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Jaune woke up from a hazily pleasant dream to a sensation of warmth and pressure and no idea what time it might be. He opened his eyes to utter darkness and part of the puzzle came back to him: he was underground, shut away from the sun.

While the warmth ensconced him, the pressure was confined to his right side and a band across his chest. It also moved in a slow, rhythmic manner—breathing. More of the past night flooded back along with blood to his face, warming it even further.

Murmuring the mnemonic to cast the mage light, he lifted his covers, looked to his side and found Pyrrha, her face now buried in the crook of his arm and hidden by a cascade of red hair.

He allowed himself just a few seconds before firmly reminding himself of the context and gently lifted her arm so he could slide out from under the covers without waking her. It would be a few hours at least before he could get the room to a comfortable temperature with the rituals he knew. In the meantime, he could get breakfast ready.

As he got to his feet, he stopped and listened. The wind had died down to the point where, at the very least, he couldn't hear it from down in the lodge's basement. Maybe he could also go topside and take a look at how much snow the storm had dumped and ascertain whether or not they could even strike out for Croceatta that day.

Retrieving his grandmother's ritual book, he went to the stairs and began the procedure that would lower the steps he'd raised the night before.

Ten minutes later, stone ground against stone accompanied by cold air blowing in through the widening gap. It also brought with it a mix of foreboding odors: rotting meat and the coppery bite of blood.

Panic gripped Jaune. He wasn't skilled enough with the ritual to halt it in progress and the sound it produced was bound to...

There was a sound from above him; a snuffling snort followed by a growl. Jaune tried to backpedal as something furry with a long, pointed snout ambled into view. That same snout split open to reveal a set of terrible teeth, but the monster's shoulders were far too wide to fit into the trap door.

That gave Jaune a moment's relief—before the monster's tongue speared out, crossing six feet of space before striking his chest with a wet splat that stung as if he'd been hit by a whip. It stuck there, adhering to the fabric of his shirt. Then it retracted, pulling the stunned young man off his feet, dragging him toward its maw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been anticipating this one for a long, long time. Two very confused companions forced together in the cold, having to come to terms with their own muddled thoughts in the dark. I hope it wasn't too terribly cliché.
> 
> I feel like this one speaks for itself, so the only note I'll make is that a lot of people have asked about the setting of this story and it's set in the past of my World of Ere novels. If you want to read them, they're available in pretty much every ebook store starting with Rune Breaker: a Girl and Her Monster, or for a shorter story, Rakne's Tale: Hearing of Grievances.


	15. The Beasts of Our Sins

Jaune shouted an oath in surprise and despite being distracted by the sudden attack, still had the wherewithal to dig in his heels against the stairs. The sheer strength of the monster's muscular tongue ripped his shirt down the center, reeling in the torn scrap of cloth and leaving Jaune to fall back into the stone floor.

Another angry snarl prompted him to roll to the side, narrowly missing as the tongue returned, slapping the floor where he'd been lying. A sharp pain in his ribs let him know that he'd rolled over the ritual book. He grabbed it and kept rolling until he was out of sight of the stairs and the beast standing at the top of them.

A groan sounded from the far corner of the room. Pyrrha was waking up. “Jaune?” she asked, clearly on the verge of falling back to sleep.

“Pyrrha, we've got trouble!” he reported. By then he'd managed to rise into a crouch in a corner and regain his bearings. More importantly, he'd started to process exactly what it was that attacked him. “Do you know what a nackka is?”

From above came another growl and the sound of claws scrabbling against rock. Rock that started breaking apart under immense strength.

That did an excellent job in waking Pyrrha up. She rolled out of the covers, shivering only slightly in the cold air, and looked toward the stairs. “Is it something that's trying to dig its way in and kill us?” Keeping low, she scuttled over to their packs and started digging around for her katars.

“Worse than that.” Jaune said gravely. He was paging through the book trying to find something he could put together quickly that might help them. “They're lesser spirit beasts; originally weasels or something similar, but they're the size of a cerato, have a tongue like a frog, and are basically unkillable because they can heal anything less then beheading or cauterization.”

Something at the top of the stairs cracked and a small slide of crumbled stones came clattering down the stairs. A few bigger chunks struck the barrels stacked against the wall, crushing on particularly old one and causing it to spill strong-smelling spirits across the floor. More falling rock simply bounced off the barrels behind it, which looked to be almost new.

“Oh, and they can burrow,” Jaune added.

“Lovely.” Pyrrha came up with her katars and put her back to the wall as she made her way toward Jaune. “At least we do have a ready source of fire.” She saw his eyes slowly drifting do toward his ritual book, presumably where his firestarter spell was and sighed. “Me, Jaune. I'm our ready source of fire.”

“Ah. Right.” Jaune shook his head, trying to clear away both the mussiness of sleep and his earlier shock while Pyrrha finally made her way to his side. “Only just breathing fire on him isn't going to do much. Most spirit beasts are tough enough that burns alone won't kill them. You have to wound them, then apply fire to those wounds so they can't heal.”

Pyrrha looked down at her katars. “Suddenly I wish my diadem gave me skill with a weapon better suited to creating larger wounds; like a sword. Or a spear.”

“And I suddenly wish we had about a half dozen pikemen and the Melroys' second daughter—she's a pyromancer. Uh that's usually how Croceatta usually deals with nackka by the way.”

“We're just going to have to make due with a young dragon and a neophyte bard,” Pyrrha informed him in a tone that brokered no arguments.

Nonetheless, Jaune started to argue even as he looked around trying to think of something. “Neophyte bard? Me?”

“Isn't that what you essentially are?” she asked, “With power but without the training to focus that power just yet? Well I suppose now is the time you learned to focus that power.”

“Yeah, I'm not seeing that happening in the next few minutes it's going to take that thing to dig its way in here.” He inclined his head toward the barrels, particularly the broken one. “What we do have though is a bunch of really strong alcohol and someone strong enough to lob them and set them on fire.”

Pyrrha cocked her head in his direction. “I thought you said setting them on fire wouldn't be enough.”

He shrugged. “It won't be, but it'll discourage it from digging more and buy me time to put together a ritual to get us out of here. Nackka are as agile and crafty as weasels, but nowhere near as fast. That's why they prefer to ambush or burrow after prey instead of running it down. We'll stand a much better chance against it out in the open.”

Sheathing her daggers, Pyrrha nodded. “Very well. But the barrels are in the creature's line of sight. Any idea how I get there without being hit by its tongue?”

“Hmm...” Jaune rubbed his chin and looked back toward his pack. “If I promise I'm not seeking death, are you okay with me being a distraction for you?”

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Something stung the nackka's nose as it tore away more of the stone keeping it from its next meal. It was a familiar scent which, though unpleasant, often accompanied the dangerous two-legged prey. Its earlier meal had been sating, but for a predator as large as it was, leaving food behind when there was still room in its stomach was not an option.

Besides, these were special. Something about them was impossibly appetizing, promising to be more delicious and more fortifying than a dozen wild beasts and a hundred two-legged prey. It wanted them. Wanted them more than anything it had ever eaten before. Its nostrils flared as its claws quickened against the stone, scrabbling at the hard rock to tear it away so as to grant it access to such tantalizing morsels.

Something down below moved in its peripheral vision and it instinctively lashed out with its tongue. The fleshy appendage launched from its mouth with incredible speed, striking the target unerringly. Whatever it was tasted cold with a hint of something it had only ever picked up as hints and passing flavors when it drained the blood from its prey. Unpleasant.

Still, It was reflex that made it draw the thing into its mouth. Waste not, want not.

Perhaps this time waste was a virtue, because whatever the thing was, it smashed into its teeth and instead of being torn and crushed and ground apart like any good prey ought to be, it stuck in its teeth with a clang and then had the temerity to start clicking and clacking and shaking in its mouth.

Then it expanded violently, brutally dislocating its jaw.

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The scream of the spirit beast tore through Jaune's mind like an electric knife. For a brief moment, he saw the world of light and sound he'd seen in dreams before, saw Pyrrha's Strand of Fate. Then he saw another stretching up from the well to...

His eyes widened as the world came back together the right way around. He looked up the stairs at where the nackka was thrashing about, shrieking and slamming its lower jaw against the stairs in an attempt to pop its jaw back into its socket.

Something metallic struck the stones beneath it and clattered down the rest of the way down the stairs to land at his feet.

“What in the world did you just do? What is that thing?” Pyrrha asked, almost too bewildered to remember to grab a barrel. The first one she tried to pick up felt like it might crack open if she hefted it, so she picked up one behind it that looked more stable.

Jaune got his toe under the edge of the thing and lifted it up high enough to grab with the hand not holding his ritual book. Its was a kite shield decorated with cracked and scratched white enamel with gold trim an the emblem of a sun rising over waves. “Bought it from a trader from across the Eastern Mountains—Auvenshadar. They've got anti-magic there; things that work with springs and alchemy and things. This is one of them: a shield that collapses down into a scabbard.” To demonstrate, he did his best to ignore the spirit beast drool all over it and pulled a concealed switch. Springs strained, internal mechanisms clattered against each other, and the shield folded in on itself until it did indeed become a scabbard.

Both he and Pyrrha paused to marvel at the engineering of the thing until they heard the unmistakable and disconcerting pop of a joint being forced back into place.

“Uh, Pyrrha?” Jaune looked from her to the barrel she was holding.

She blinked, then nodded. “Oh. Right.”

No one human could have carried the barrel, much less hefted it with one hand, but that's what Pyrrha did, rearing back on one foot and winding up with all her might before hurling the thing up the stairs as easily as a child might throw a ball.

If having its jaw dislocated had been bad, the nackka was treated to more punishment as wood banded with iron struck it at the speed of a runaway wagon and exploded into oaken shrapnel and filled its nose with an even more unpleasant odor, one it didn't recognize, but which made it sneeze.

“Jaune?” Pyrrha said, having watched the barrel rupture not into a spray of liquor, but a cloud of black-gray powder. “I don't think that's alcohol.”

He'd reached the same conclusion, but his mind was already building on it. The people who died inside the lodge had been from Auvenshadar, the same place his mechanical shield was from. The lodge had burned from the inside—exploded from the inside—with no evidence of flaer present.

A quick looked behind them confirmed his suspicions: the old rotting wine barrels had been pulled forward to conceal new barrels sealed at the top with wax that bore the impressed seal he instantly recognized as that of Auvenshadar.

A power that could rival even advanced fireball spells.

Or, as Jaune knew it, a something two friends of his would pay their eye teeth to play around with.

“Pyrrha?” he asked. She hummed her acknowledgment. “New plan: I need you to hurt this thing as much as you can. Cut as much and as deep as possible. Just stay out of the way of its tongue.”

She looked up at the monster, whose head and shoulders were still blocking the exit. “But how...?”

“Leave that to me.” Jaune turned to face the creature again and started casting. "Ancient and unmoving, that which holds us up and gives us substance. Heed my now and by my command: Rise." At the last line, he slapped his hand against the stairs.

The top stairs, the ones he'd lowered that morning, drove upward like a single massive fist delivering a powerful uppercut to the nackka and driving it back out of the stairwell. It had the side effect of blocking the passage again, but not in any way the spirit beast couldn't tunnel through.

Jaune looked to Pyrrha. “Ready?”

She reached into her bag—which Jaune hadn't even realized she had with her-- and extracted a handful of assorted coins. “Ready.”

Still pressing his hand to the floor, Jaune began to recite once more. "Power of earth and stone, solid body with a hollow heart. I conjure thee into the ground below to do as I bid. And thou shall by my command: Sink.” As violently as it had been expelled from the earth, the set of stairs was pulled back down, resuming its usual function as a stairway however damaged.

The instant it started moving, Pyrrha was in motion, loping up the stairs in a headlong charge. At the same moment, Jaune grabbed hold of one of the Auvenshadar barrels and started wrestling it into place at the foot of the stairs, kicking the falling bits of debris aside.

Once it was in place, he opened his ritual book and started reading. With Pyrrha topside fighting against a spirit beast, he couldn't afford to take his time or get it anything but perfect the first time.

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Pyrrha knew about spirit beasts, just not nackka in particular.

Not just because she'd encountered them on and off throughout her life in the western mountains, but because her brood mother had passed on all the general knowledge she could about what the dragons called houval'enteres—literally 'the beasts of our sins' in the common parlance.

As the tale went, dragons had always been powerful, but when the gods tasked them to be shepherds of the other races, they undertook a powerful ritual to gain greater power. It worked: a dragon no longer feared death by old age, could naturally change their shape, internalized every spell they learned, and if they spent the time an effort to learn, could harness the connection they had to the Well of Souls to perform feats that rivaled what priests could channel from the gods themselves.

The price, it was said, was that said power, while channeled into the souls of all dragons, was now loosed upon the world, able to manifest as 'divinity sparks' in any living thing. These became spirit beasts: the price the entire world paid for the avarice of dragons just as the era of Draconic Control was the price of draconic pride and the current age of shattered states was the price of the hailenes' own pride and wrath.

It wasn't an official philosophy; dragons were not bards even if they shared a power source; but Pyrrha had the distinct impression that her brood mother felt the extermination of spirit beats was a good start on the path to redemption for the Dragon Nations.

And here was her chance.

Topping the destroyed stairs, she got her first look at the nackka in its entirety.

It was huge; almost twenty feet long with a long, narrow body covered with dark brownish red fur that stuck out in stiff tufts that faded to white along the sides and a long, bushy tail. Its feet were black and the front pair ended in claws longer than her forearm in human form. It's head was a long wedge with large eyes protected by a thick ridge of exposed skin so thick it might as well have been bone, and its mouth was full of ripping teeth. Like most spirit beasts, it was marked as unnatural by geometric shapes and lines criss-crossing its body in stark white. Blood covered its muzzle, neck and chest and much of that was in turn caked with the grainy powder from the barrel she'd thrown.

At the moment she emerged, it was forcing itself to its feet from where Jaune's earth pillar had knocked it on its side. Its underbelly was exposed to her and, being a predator herself, she didn't let the opportunity pass. One after another, she threw coins into the air and cast her coppergonne, sending them accelerating into the monster with ballistic velocities. They punched through fur and flesh, leaving bleeding holes.

But just as quickly as she made them, the holes started to close up thanks to the strange workings of the divinity spark.

She was just going to have to make bigger wounds that took longer to heal. Flipping her katars into fighting position, she broke into a sprint for the snarling nackka. It unleashed its tongue at her, but she knew to expect it and side-stepped, feeling its slimy presence come far too close to her bare arms than she was comfortable with.

The cold was pressing down on her now; her fiery metabolism rebelling from the very idea of being out in that weather without proper protection. Still she refused to falter, putting everything she had into her headlong charge.

A massive paw swung out at her, but the diadem had given her enough tactical acumen that it couldn't pull its front leg back far enough to intercept her. With a final burst of speed, she reached its broad side and thrust her blades into two separate vital areas between the ribs. She let out a desperate battle cry as she carved a pair of jagged red lines across the thing's body from center to flank.

Its pained shriek shook her to her core, distracting her when the spirit beast jumped; a short hop really, but enough to reorient itself to take another swat at her. Luckily for her (to an extent), she was too close for those murderous claws to catch her, but the pad of its paw still hit home with a meaty thud and she found herself being lifted and thrown.

What felt like seconds ticked by before she stuck the ground along the corner of the lodge's foundation. A mortal's arm would have shattered. Even as a dragon however, she felt the fracture and it almost blinded her with pain.

Even so, she had the wherewithal to roll off the edge of the bare stone foundation to use it for cover. Not that it would do much against a burrowing monster, but it would buy her a little bit of time. Sure enough, the heavy footsteps of the nackka pounded toward her, adding even more urgency to her situation.

It was around that moment that she started to understand how Jaune got into the situations he did. And taking that was inspiration, she shifted her grip on the katar in her right hand and pounded her fist into the ground, casting a spell she'd known for years but only recently become intimately familiar with.

The ground beneath her erupted into a earthen pillar. It didn't have the force or attendant cloud of debris Jaune's had, but the acceleration was enough to boost her as she leapt off it backward.

She couldn't have asked for better timing: the charging spirit beast reared up in surprise at the pillar's sudden appearance, then tore into it with claws, completely missing Pyrrha as she threw herself up and over it.

Or rather almost over. She'd made her leap at an awkward angle and instead of getting behind the nackka like she planned, she landed on its back, the ridge of its spine under thick fur bruising her sternum and knocking the wind out of her.

Dazed, she drove her katars into the monster's back and twisted, causing the nackka to scream and buck, but her katars anchored her well enough to stay on. Her muscles tensed and she dragged herself along the beast's back until she was able to reach the neck, which she plunged one of her weapons into again and again in both savage fury and animal desperation to bring the thing down before it threw her. Hot blood sprayed out in erratic bursts, splashing her face and arm as she stabbed and hacked and sawed against constantly-healing sinew and muscle.

Loss of blood took some of the fight out of it, but it did not die.

Then Jaune's words came back to her in a rush: it healed all wounds that weren't cauterized.

Triumph sang in her heart as she inhaled and engaged organs she hadn't shifted away when taking human form any more than she'd shifted away her superior muscle structure. Chemicals mixed and collected in glands at the back of her throat and when she opened her mouth, they sprayed out, igniting in the air to become a burning gel that she aimed into the gaping slashes she'd left in the beast's neck.

Survival reflexes kicked in and the nackka thrashed, throwing itself on the ground and rolling to relieve itself of what tormented it. Pyrrha's own reflexes were the only thing that saved her; she rolled too, leaving her katars buried in the creature's flesh but escaped with only more bruises from the hard stone and the nackka's whipping tail.

With her injured arm screaming for attention, her lungs burning for air, and no weapons she managed to find her feet and stumble to cover behind the stump of one of the lodge's support beams. She needed time to let her body replenish its chemical salvo, to come up with a new plan—or to get to a safe spot where she could transform. None of those looked like they were forthcoming.

They did feel significantly more likely than what happened next though: Jaune Arc burst out of the lodge's basement, heading right for the spirit beast while screaming bloody murder and riding a barrel, all to the tune of what sounded like an entire quarry of dwarves shoving rocks around.

It made Pyrrha question whether all those alcohol fumes down in the cellar had made him drunk—or made her drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not going to be a long fight, just a taste of what a low level spirit beast is like and letting our heroes fight something that's—for lack of a better term—level appropriate.
> 
> No romance this time as such, but they are learning—slowly--to be a battle couple, which is nice.
> 
> So the Avenshadar stuff: I've been laying this in for a while that there's more to Lord Citraan's plot than just killing dragons. Now you can see things starting to come together with what happened at the lodge. I like to have a larger plot forming the backbone when I write romance.
> 
> And then there's some mythology gags. Obviously, we know where the mechanical shield is from, but it's use is actually from my Rune Breaker series where a collapsing staff is used to the same effect. Also, Jaune is riding a barrel in a story with a dragon. In case you're not a fan of Fantasy, Barrel Rider is one of the titles Bilbo Baggins gives himself while talking to the dragon Smaug in the Hobbit and the name Smaug in turn favors calling him.
> 
> If you're all keeping score, we are now way over the novel threshold for size. This is a big, big story. Hope you're all enjoying it.


	16. Power of the Well

As Pyrrha fought above, Jaune worked frantically to sketch out the ritual of earth control. He didn't have time to actually draw out the magic circle or the formulae, so he was trying to frame it in his mind. It was a simple enough task for normal spells: reducing the necessary components necessary to conjure a fireball or cause the ground to collapse in a small area to a few words and gestures were a sign that a person was a reasonably competent mage.

Doing the same with far more complex rituals, which had multiple arrays of variables to direct energies in a fashion that could be adjusted on the fly was an advance technique that put strain on the mind and body. Doing it at all would have been next to impossible if Jaune hadn't read and reread the various notes and annotations in his Grandmother's ritual book. All the same, sweat was pouring down his face and neck and his breath was coming out in hard, gasps.

In his mind's eye, the swarming concepts became symbols and began to fall into place, arranging themselves into the necessary arrays. Through sheer force of will, he forced them to solidify into place, speaking the archaic words he only half-understood to power himself through.

“Ground. Change. Motion. Shape. Change. Change. Change.”

The ritual completed, sending a wash of energy through his body. With it came an intimate awareness of the earth and stone that surrounded him. Every grain, every facet. The imperfect crystalline structures impressed themselves upon him, revealing all their secrets and how to transform them.

He directed his attention and the roiling potential energy granted him by the spell into the stairs. Normally, he would have worked the power with care and control, but the sounds above him spurred him to action, simply hurling his spell-empowered will against the rock. Dust blasted outward from the shifting blocks that made up the stairs as they became instead a ramp.

With the last of the ritual energy, Jaune pulled the dust from the air and packed it across the ground.

The effort left him feeling uncomfortably hot even in the middle of the freezing basement. But he didn't stop to catch his breath; there was too much depending on him. Next came the barrel. Counting the one Pyrrha had thrown, there were four casks bearing the crest of Auvenshadar in total.

“Okay, how did this stuff work again?” He wondered aloud as he dragged one of them to the foot of the stairs. It'd been almost a year since his old friend had showed him her new toy bought off a desert merchant. She'd talked the man's ear off endlessly to learn not just how it worked but why, then talked the ears off everyone she knew about it.

Jaune wrestled the barrel into position, then took care to tip it on its side. “It needs to be packed before it will explode. I know that much.” He glanced up toward where he knew there was an exploded and burned lodge. “Yeah, the barrels are packed enough, I'd say. What else? If there's an open end all the energy goes out that end—but how can you have an open end and it's still packed?” He groaned. “Oh forget it, we'll just light it and duck.”

With that, he swung his leg over the barrel, mounting it like a horse, and pressed his feet firmly to the ground. It was at that moment that his mind decided to remind him just how dangerous what he planned really was: he was going to ride a barrel full of exotic explosive dust into an immortal monster, then ask a dragon to breath fire on that barrel to make it explode—all while hoping beyond hope that the explosion would kill the thing that didn't normally die and spare him. That he'd managed to fail at dying several times since he first met Pyrrha didn't give him a lot of confidence.

But hearing the violence up above; the enraged shriek of the nackka and a frenzied battle cry from Pyrrha; steeled his resolve to try anyway.

“Spirits below in the firmament, you who fortify and give shape to creation. I call you into motion and by your hands delivery me.” The ground rumbled in reply and a ripple ran through it with the sound of an avalanche. He and the barrel were carried along by the earthbound wave up the ramp and into the light.

It was just as he broke into the open air that he remembered why he never cast the gravic slide that often: just like most of his spells, his didn't work that same as everyone else's. In this case, for normal practitioners with the energy of earth, ere-a, it was smooth and steady like skating on a frozen pond. For Jaune, it was constant acceleration and zero control.

Hitting the top of the ramp, the barrel came off the ground by a good foot before landing hard and coming under the effect of the spell again, charging hellbent toward the nackka. He didn't know exactly when he started screaming, but Jaune's voice was hoarse by the time he leapt off the side of the out of control barrel.

The ground, having only just moments ago been under his sway, was unforgiving, leaving him with what would probably become a bruise across half his body even though he did his best to roll with it. “Pyrrha!” he managed to call out through the pain of a half dozen abrasions, “Light the barrel! Light it now!”

“I-I can't yet.” Pyrrha's voice come from somewhere nearby.

“What?!” Addled by his trip, he looked in the ground direction in time to see the not-exploding barrel slam into the spirit beast's foreleg and come to a stop in the face of several tons of muscle. If it hadn't before, the monster looked positively demonic, the fur on its face in the process of burning away, sparkers from the Auvenshdar powder leaping away like tiny fireballs. Blood matted its fur both from itself and whatever it had been eating when he first encountered it.

And now he had its attention. Wild with pain and adrenaline, the nackka loomed over Jaune, stepping past the offending barrel to draw nearer one of the morsels it so desired. Only the last few minutes worth of experience made it cautious enough to by him time.

Jaune watched it come, watched the still-swollen jaw work as the monster primed its muscles to launch its tongue. Maybe for a good mage, there might have been time to cast another spell. But Jaune was anything but a good mage, so he drew his hunting knife instead and readied himself for the attack.

At the first quiver of the beast's jowls, he threw himself to the side as the tongue flashed out faster than the eye could follow. But Jaune's eye didn't need to follow because he knew where it was going to be and struck out with the knife. The worn blade pierced through the hairlike growths covering it and into the muscle, going all the way through until it rebounded off the ground.

Hot blood rushed out as the appendage retracted and in the process split itself along the length of the knife. Once more, the spirit beast screamed and Jaune felt it to the depths of his core.

He'd bought just a little more time as the monster reeled, and Jaune didn't waste a moment, crawling on his hands and knees toward the broken pillar from which he'd heard Pyrrha's voice earlier. When he came close enough, a hand appeared from behind it and roughly grabbed his shoulder, hauling him into cover.

“Jaune, are you alright?”

“For the next few seconds,” he replied truthfully. With his bearings coming back to him, he gave her a quick once over as well. She was covered with fresh scratches and the early stages of a lot of bruising, but the worst was how angry, red and swollen her right arm was starting to turn. “Your arm,” he said, starting to reach for it. The words for his healing spell were already on his lips.

Pyrrha stopped him with a firm shake of the head. “It's fine for now.” Her eyes were wild with confusion and the rush of battle. “What was that you did back there?”

Jaune split his attention between Pyrrha and the pained sounds of the nackka. The spirit beast would heal the split tongue, but with its face still burning, it was very effectively distracted for the moment as long as they didn't enter its line of sight. “The dust in the barrels. They're Shadari anti-magic—magic without magic. It multiples the force of fire if you use it right. It's what blew up the lodge. All we have to do is light the barrel and the explosion will kill the nackka.”

“That's...” Pyrrha made a hawking sound as she tested the glands in her throat and found them still empty, “going to be a problem. I'm out of fire.”

For the space of a breath, all thought in Jaune's head ceased and he just stared at her dumbly. “Ex... cuse me?”

“I'm out of fire. The fluid I spray that ignites on contact with air; I used it all up spitting into the wounds I carved in that thing's back.”

“Dragons can run out of fire?”

Now it was her turn to give him a stare. “Do you think I would make something like that up at a time like this?”

“You have a point,” Jaune was forced to cede. “How long until you've, er, made more?”

Pyrrha shrugged, “I've never used it in human form. Normally I have eight times the capacity and I can regenerate it almost as fast as I can use it. It could take maybe a minute or more. I don't think we can depend on it.”

Another shriek from the nackka made them both wince. At this, Jaune gave Pyrrha a curious look. “You feel that too, don't you?” She nodded. “Right. I've been around dying spirit beasts plenty of times and I've never felt like that before. The difference now is that I have a Strand of Fate—and so do you.” His expression brightened, “And so does it! I saw it! Pyrrha, I think I know how to keep it distracted long enough for you to get your fire back.”

He staggered to his feet, pressing his back against the broken pillar.

“What?” Pyrrha rose with him, ready to grab hold of him.

“If it screaming hurts us, then us screaming should hurt it.” He was talking more to himself than to her. With his eyes closed, he actively sought out the strange vision he'd only seen before in dreams and with Master Logaire's help. To his amazement, the vision of a harmonic world sprang into being before him, rimed in the ghostlight of resonance.

Directly beside him, he was Pyrrha's Strand of Fate, a vibrant ribbon extending up from the heart of the world. And he saw another Strand as well: a torn and tattered thing erupting up from the well like a hateful splinter. He noted the difference immediately; as if he'd known it all along and was only just remembering.

Dragons were born connected to the well, their connections as natural to them as breathing. Bards, whether conscious or not, reached out to the well and made the connection by will and their connections were a tense as their grip on their power. But spirit beasts had no choice: the power was thrust upon mere beasts with no understanding of what they'd become. Their connection to the Well could be a thorn thrust into their body and mind, driving them mad. In a word, they failed to resonate with the source of their power—which was resonance itself.

Understanding became a spark that kindled into something more that etched itself into his mind and soul. Something like a spell, but more intimate—a secret from the Well. A fragment of the Word that formed the universe, a note from the Song of All.

And Jaune Arc now knew how to use it.

Drawing in on good, deep breath, he turned and stepped out of cover, opening his eyes in order to fix the beast in his sight. Then he spoke the Word. Sound that none but those who were joined to the Well of Souls rolled out in a concentrated cone, reverberating through the nackka like a roaring crescendo. The geometric lines and patterns on its body that marked it for what it was began to glow red like branding irons and it let out a scream of unrivaled anguish.

Overcome by the pain, the nackka dragged its head along the ground, first one side, then the other, trying to block its ears. Only this sound wasn't just rending its ears, it was tearing into it on a fundamental level.

Unlike a greater beast, lesser spirit beasts like the nackka didn't possess the same level of intellect as demihumans, dragons and the like. However, the same power that granted them their spectacular abilities also put an extra edge on their cunning. After several seconds of disorienting pain, the creature was able to hone in on where the attack was coming from.

Now cautious above all else, it reared up on its hind legs, balancing on its tail. The great digging claws were put on display as it bellowed out a challenge. The motion upset a bloody cake of Shadari powder that had been pasted to its neck and the smoldering chunk now fell to the ground—and burst into a flurry of tiny flames like lantern beetles.

What Jaune hadn't realized until just that moment was that his wild ride atop the barrel—in particular the bit where it hit the top of his conjured ramp and came down hard—had broken a seal along the vessel's side, leaving a powder trail that led across the burnt foundation of the lodge directly to where the the barrel now rested behind the nackka's left flank. A trail that now caught flame from the chunk of bloody paste.

The Word of disruption cut off abruptly as Jaune noticed. He was too close to the explosive cask and completely out in the open. Without realizing it, he'd been striding right for the spirit beast and was now a span the length of his entire body from the cover of the wooden pillar.

He barely had to glance back, sensing Pyrrha had broken cover to when she saw him walking into the claws of death. She'd be caught in the blast too. There was no time to cast, no place to flee. Distantly, as the echo of the Word he'd cast washed out all over sound, he heard her shout his name and he knew she was going to try physically shield him. It wouldn't help; it would only mean her end would be worse.

Desperation filled every corner of his mind, which was still in tune with the Well of Souls. He'd already reached out to the Source of all Souls and gotten an answer, now he needed another. Not for him, but for Pyrrha. He'd long accepted that his lifestyle didn't lend to survivability and made his peace with it, but for her—for her he would not accept that outcome.

If Master Logaire was right, he'd gained these abilities because of her, so what was the point of them if he couldn't use them to protect her?

Mentally, he grasped at the lash skeins of power from the Word of disruption, trying to do what he'd done with so many rituals before: force the energies to do what he wanted. But this energy was different, a thing without physical form, like trying to take hold of a ghost. He couldn't manipulate it on his own, he didn't know how.

He was failing. For the first time in months, he was putting everything he had into what he was doing... and he was failing.

The flames finally reached the barrel.

There was a hollow thump and the nackka was hidden by a rapidly expanding cloud of gray dust preceded by a shockwave. With the sight of resonance, Jaune was able to see its leading edge: like a charging cerato with no shape or substance, only force. Chunks of wood and bone and claw rode the edge of the blastwave, promising to add laceration and impalement to the an already gruesome end.

Something hit him from behind, a powerful tackle that took him off his feet, driving him just take much closer to the approaching oblivion. Jaune squeezed his eyes shut and let himself fall.

And then the Well answered.

The first thing that clued him in to the fact that he'd survived was getting acquainted with the ground once more. That and Pyrrha's surprisingly solid weight coming down on him hard enough to rattled his jaw and drive all the air from his lungs was proof that they hadn't been blended into a chunky mess by concussive force.

After a few precious seconds, he opened his eyes to find the strangest thing: The air between them and the explosion turned a deep amber color in the shape of a large kite shield. Bits of wood and metal from the barrel as well as stone chips and pieces of bone were suspended in the construct, slowly tumbling and rotating as they spent their energy against the deeply humming barrier.

Dust wafted through the air and tiny bits of debris rained down.

“Jaune?” Pyrrha asked. Her head was tucked into the small of his back and it didn't feel like she was sure enough that the danger had passed to let go.

“Yeah?”

“How are we still alive?”

Jaune let his own head rest on the cool ground. “Because you were right about Logaire telling the truth. I can cast... things. Not spells. Like Words and Songs.”

There was a beat before she followed up with, “Is it the powers or the explosion that made it so I heard you use capital letters on those words.”

“Sound kind of has new meaning to me now, so... the first one?”

Pyrrha replied with a tired hum, but another sound soon forced them out of their post-battle respite. It was a groan and a growl and the shifting of debris.

“No.” Jaune said the word as if he was admonishing reality like a naughty pet. “No. No. No. After all that?” Come to think of it, he hadn't seen much flame in the explosion. It was mostly just concussive force and shrapnel.

Things a spirit beast could heal from.

“I'm really starting to hate this thing,” Pyrrha ground out. Her weight disappeared from Jaune's back and he heard the rustle of clothing. He couldn't turn his neck far enough to see her, but he could spot the nackka through the dust-choked air.

Healing or no, the explosion had done a number on the once-mighty spirit beast. Pieces of the barrel stuck up out of its haunch and side resembling a porcupine's quills if not for the rivulets of blood trickling from them. Its hip and lower right rear leg had been blown clear off, leaving a mangled pile of meat that writhed disgustingly as it tried to return to its original shape. The left side of its face was burned down to sinew and bone, the eye a dead hollow that leaked clear liquid. Without a cheek or lips on that side, fearsome teeth were left bare.

Some of those wounds might never heal, but thanks to its own power from the Well of Souls, the nackka yet lived. And it still craved flesh that held the same inner power as itself. Slowly, painfully slowly, it was trying to right itself after being knocked down. Its remaining eye was trained on them, an unknowable hunger burning deep inside.

A wool shirt landed on Jaune, followed shortly thereafter by a set of trousers. “Please watch after these. I'm sure they can be mended,” Pyrrha said sweetly before her prim tone was replaced by the groans and sickening pops that marked her transformation.

The next thing of her Jaune saw of her was a red-scaled claw setting down a few feet from him hard enough to send a little shock through the ground and into his developing bruises. Resplendent in her natural armor and brass decoration, Pyrrhanykos strode toward the downed spirit beast.

She favored her injured foreleg where her arm had been broken, but that hardly marred the regal menace of a dragon ahunt.

The nackka roared. Yes, she was a dragon, but a dragon half its size. At full strength, it wouldn't have even been afraid, but now its bluster was bravado. It started to push off with its foreclaws, but in that instant Pyrrha was on him, using her wings to extend a leap into a long pounce that ended with her good foreleg on its back, her jaws closing around its stout neck.

The spirit beast shook itself, but loss of blood and massive injury made it too weak to free itself. For good measure, Pyrrha backwinged, driving all of her weight and then some down upon it as her own neck provided counter-torque. Vertebrae popped and tendons strained as flesh tore like oil paper. One more lurching pull, and a snap of her jaws and Pyrrha managed to rip the nackka's head off.

A sickly white spark passed between the severed juncture and the monster was still, its regenerative power grounded with the loss of the brain. Life fled its one good eye, and finally the battle was won.

Growling her disgust, Pyrrha swung her head and tossed the severed head aside, inadvertently lobbing it so that it landed only a few feet from where Jaune lay in a daze.

He just lay there, staring at it in awe. Two people—well one of them was a dragon, but still—the two of them had put down spirit beast. It was a feat normally reserved for military units and village-wide coalitions. If he hadn't been there, he would never believe the tale.

Pyrrha's heavy footfalls snapped him out of his shock. Using her wings to balance, she hardly showed her injury as she made her way over and settled down with her head on the ground near his. “Are you alright?”

“Just stunned. In more ways than one,” he admitted. “I'll heal you in a second. Just have to shake off the shock. After that, we're going to have to decide what we can and can't carry the rest of the way to Croceatta.”

“Why's that?”

“Because I'm pretty sure that thing ate Gasten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this fight to span the whole chapter but here it is.
> 
> Complete with a PSA on using gunpowder to blow up things that require fire to kill them. Real explosions aren't fiery, sad to say.
> 
> And Jaune now has his first two Bardic Secrets: Discarnate Disruption and Kinetic Shield. Just in time for me to be done with the Bard class for World of Ere D20. You can check out the SRD for my system at worldofered20 DOT paradoxomni Dot net.
> 
> This was a fun chapter to write between Jaune accessing his powers and Pyrrha getting to fight if only for a short time in dragon mode.
> 
> All three of my current fics have now edged into novel-length territory. This one isn't even near the mid-point yet. Here's to more action, fun and romance!
> 
> Next chapter we will definitely run into Ruby and Yang by popular demand and a few other characters as well. Also, we learn what a 'cerato' is. Next Chapter: Spell of the Green Moon (for real this time).


	17. Spell of the Green Moon

“Oh my...” Pyrrha said, following Jaune's gaze. She suddenly felt very guilty for the various times she'd fantasized about eating Gasten now that she was seeing the aftermath of the nackka's feeding.

Not much was left of the riding bird's midsection. Its belly and chest were reduced to scraps of gore hanging from shattered ribs and a spinal column. One legs was gone, the other drenched in blood. Feathers were scattered liberally, partially obscuring a crushed skull with only the heavy beak left to identify the former ornis.

“I'm sorry, Jaune.”

Jaune closed his eyes tightly and let out a long sigh. “You know, I know he was just an ornis and a skittish, foul-tempered one at that, but he didn't deserve this.” Opening his eyes, he paced over to the cooling corpse and knelt beside it. “My father bought him off a trader from the south coast for studding, but Gasten... never took an interest in any other ornis aside from trying to bite them. So no one cared when I started using him to ride out on.”

Limping a tiny bit, Pyrrha came over to bring her head level with Jaune. “How long did you have him?”

“A little over two years now,” he replied after shaking himself as if from a fugue state. A small, bitter laugh escaped him. “Always there when you needed him, even if It was never much of a pleasure.” He bowed his head toward the remains of his old companion. “You did good, Gasten.”

With that, he straightened up and turned to face Pyrrha. “Like I said though, we've got work to do if we want to get to a safe place to camp tonight. First though, let's take a look at your leg... arm... uh...” He eyed the limb in question as if half-hoping a proper label would appear on it.

She raised the limb in question to give him better access. “I never considered the distinction. I still manipulate things with my foreclaws, so I suppose they're closer to arms then legs.”

“Arm then,” Jaune agree, smiling just a bit at her putting serious thought into such a trivial matter. He gingerly placed his hands on the proffered limb and concentrated on it. Pyrrha's scales felt less like the gemstones they resembled and more like stiffened leather, each suffused with her natural warmth. Through them, he could feel her pulse and the powerful, dense muscles just beneath the surface. Whatever was hurting her wasn't enough for him to detect with mere touch, but her pained reactions were more than enough to tell him something was wrong.

So he skipped any further examination and began to chant the one healing spell he knew. “Sublime wheel that drives the engine of the cycle. Turn toward white and release the river of vitality. Wash away the hurt, ease the strain and mend what was broken. By my own life, I beseech thee.”

Life-giving vitae flowed from his palms and into Pyrrha's injury. Flesh rippled as the bone underneath realigned itself minutely. It wasn't a bad fracture, but nonetheless, Pyrrha lowed in relief as the pain subsided. When the spell ended, she flexed her claw a few time before testing her weight on it, finding no issues any longer.

“Thank you, Jaune.” She said, finally settling onto all fours again.

“Of course,” he replied with a shrug. “You didn't think I would just leave you like that, did you?” He said it lightly, not believing she'd think such a thing for a moment. Then he nodded toward the basement entrance. “Why don't you rest a little while I start going through our stuff? We can't get to a town today, but there's a hollow we can make by nightfall.”

As he spoke, he started off to get to work, but the now-familiar sounds of natural shapeshifting stopped him in mid-stride. By the time he'd turned around, a very human Pyrrha was standing—or rather swaying dangerously—before him.

It only took two steps to close the distance between them, allowing Jaune to catch her before she toppled over. “Whoa,” he said, keeping Pyrrha in place with a strong grip on her upper arms. “Is it okay for you to chance again so close to the last time?”

Putting up a valiant effort to steady herself, Pyrrha nodded unconvincingly. “It's supposed to get easier the more I do it, so...”

“But why'd you do it this time? I said you could get some rest.”

Pyrrha ignored the fact that she was starting to shiver and met his gaze with an encouraging smile. “Like you said, we have work to do. And it will go faster if we were both doing our part.”

A protest died in Jaune's throat. What was done was done and he'd frankly welcome the help. “Alright,” he conceded, leading Pyrrha back to where he'd ended up after the demise of the nackka. “Let's get your clothes back on before we start though—you look pretty cold.”

RWBYRWBYRWBY

It took less than an hour to whittle their gear down to a more manageable amount with minimal sacrifices thanks to Pyrrha's strength. What they did cast off, Jaune stowed in a far corner of the lodge's basement for whoever might take refuge there and need it.

Soon they set out for four relatively uneventful days of travel. That night, they camped in the hollow Jaune mentioned before, hidden from the world by the screen spell from the ritual book. The next day saw the pair arriving in the farming village of Lyzencote, where they rented a room and bought a few supplies.

Along the way, Jaune made good on his promise to start teaching Pyrrha woodcraft; indicating tracks, showing her what wild plants were edible, and how to mark a trail.

It was late on the seventh day after the blizzard, as they were climbing a hill which Jaune promised would be the last before they reached Croceatta when he broke off in mid conversation.

“Jaune?”

He raised a hand to silence her. “Hold on,” he said in a hushed tone, “do you hear that?”

Pyrrha paused to listen as well. Now that she was focused on it, she could here the low, muted calls of large animals. “Oh. Is that bad? Something we'll have to fight?”

“Something we'll have to go out of our way to avoid,” Jaune supplied, resuming his trek up the hill. In minutes, they crested the top, finding a clear view through the scattered trees to the plain below. A narrow river wound its way across the uneven landscape, interrupted only by a stone bridge not far to the west that crossed it. But between them and said bridge was something that demanded all their attention: many somethings.

A herd of tri-horn ceratos, some members of which measured almost twenty feet long from nose to tail and eight feet at the shoulder. Pebbled gray-brown skin sported sparse bristles while the rear of their skulls flared into natural shields that protected their necks. A pair of pale horns sprouted from their brow ridges while a third, shorted one emerged from just above their beak-like mouths. The females, the largest of them made larger from being swollen with eggs, waddled at the center of a circle of males and mature females past breeding age.

They numbered just past twenty, but such formidable creatures traveled with an entourage of other creatures. Orms of several varieties flitted among them, preying on the insects that fed on their skin and dung or the rodents and birds that their passing flushed from cover. A secondary herd of nearly fifty mule deer milled around the edges of the cerato formation, enjoying the protection they offered from smaller predators. A handful of solitary glypts—huge armored rodents with spiked tails followed too, feasting on the roots churned up by the herd's heavy steps.

Altogether, the band of beasts extended almost half a mile across the landscape, coincidentally blocking any safe passage Jaune and Pyrrha might have over the bridge.

Pyrrha goggled. She'd seen such herds in passing from the air, but never in their fullness or so close. Even the smaller bull ceratos were larger than she was and probably stronger. They lacked break weapons or magic, but a charge with those mighty horns could prove fatal. “How are we supposed to get around them?”

Her companion shook his head. “Brellman's Bridge is the only bridge within a three-day journey of here. This herd is sort of a known problem around here; every year they come out of the deep forests in the foothills where they winter and make their way to the lake shore to lay eggs. They only block the bridge for one or two days at most, but I was hoping they'd have passed through by now. The blizzard probably delayed them.”

It was clear that he wasn't anywhere near as bothered by this misfortune as he had been when they found the lodge burned down. Then again, they didn't have a winter storm bearing down on them this time.

In fact, the nights had grown successively milder as they days had gone by. Not, Pyrrha silently noted, that that put an end to the pair huddling for warmth. They'd slept curled up together with under less and less covers over the past week with no discussion over it aside from the first night after the lodge when Jaune looked at her askance when they were putting down their bedrolls in the tent and she'd carefully laid hers down directly adjacent to his.

The only exception had been Lyzencote where Jaune hadn't considered or hesitated when asking for a room with two beds at the local inn. It seemed to her that humans must attach special meaning to sharing beds that didn't apply to other sleeping arrangement. She'd accepted this without comment because he was the expert in local mortal customs after all.

Unaware of Pyrrha's inner commentary, Jaune shrugged. “We'll just have to make camp downwind of them and wait them out. If one of the bulls—or worse the big matrons out there even think we're a threat... well what you did to the nackka back there will look like gentle, loving cuddles by comparison. We raise the smaller shield ceratos back home and even they can easily kill someone who pisses them off.”

Another shrug. “It's not that bad. We were on course of reaching Croceatta tomorrow just before sundown. We'll just be a day off.” He turned aside from their main path to follow to ridge-line toward thicker trees toward the west.

It was about that time that Pyrrha realized she should be saying something and fumbled for a moment to come up with something appropriate. “Will we miss much of the festival?”

“Nah.” Jaune stepped up onto a large, exposed root and offered a hand up to her. Considering how strong she was, it was completely unnecessary and he had to know it, but she gratefully accepted nonetheless. When they were on an equal level, he added, “There's no real set time for it to start beyond 'when it's warm enough to spend time outside and 'after the planting's done.' Judging by the weather this past week, we might miss a day or two, but it's a whole week of events, so don't worry about missing much.”

Pyrrha nodded. “I suppose I can't be disappointed anyway if I don't know what I'm missing.” then she inclined her head in the direction they'd been headed. The exposed root they'd climbed onto formed a natural bowl beneath the towering sycamore tree it belonged to. Another, slightly lower root protected the space from wind while spreading moss made the ground there soft and inviting. “And this looks like a nice place—is it far enough downwind from the ceratos?”

After taking a moment to gauge the air and take a look through the taller undergrowth beyond the sycamore's shade, Jaune gave an approving nod. “We should be fine, yeah.” He surveyed the space with a more discerning eye this time and smiled fondly. “Actually, I've camped out here before. A few years back when I was still learning my woodcraft. It's a pretty nice place.”

Given his implicit leave to do so, Pyrrha slipped the over-sized pack from her shoulders and let it down gently onto the top of the root before stepping off the edge of it and dropping neatly onto the moss ground. The pack was now at chest level with her, making it very easy to start rummaging through it.

She hummed in agreement while pulling out the last of their precious jerky supply. They'd topped it off at Lyzencote, but she didn't have the heart to tell Jaune that the new batch distinctly tasted of horse. Complaining about not being able to eat ornis meat seemed out of place so soon after Gasten's death. “Since we're making camp so early, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” With a bit less finesse, Jaune scrambled down off the root and removed his own pack. There was no hurry in setting up the tent or making a fire just yet, so he simply laid his aside.

Pyrrha sat down on the mossy ground, putting her back against the root and tore a piece of jerky in half, offering one half to Jaune. She waited for him to take it before asking, “Back in Sol Sodatta Logaire mentioned you won a storyspinning contest...”

“I came in second, actually.” Nibbling on the jerky, he sank down into a sitting position beside her. Idly, Pyrrha noticed there was less than a hand-span between their knees and that was only because he's positioned himself to partially face her. “What about it?”

She hummed again, leaning back to look at the sky through the canopy of sycamore leaves. The green moon Azelia was full and visible in the evening sky. “It's just that it's been almost two weeks and you've never really told me one. You've told me about the town, about nature, about yourself, but no stories. I'd rather like to hear one if you don't mind. After all, we have time now.”

A low chuckle escaped Jaune's lips. “I held those back because I figured you'd be sick of them given how that's most of what you heard shadowing travelers in the passes. Plus you tell them better than I do.”

“I find that doubtful,” Pyrrha mused, “After all, I never won a handsome cloak for my renditions.” She made it a point to flutter the heat-conserving cloak, which had become a staple of her wardrobe at Jaune's insistence that it did more for her than for him.

“Maybe that's why I let you keep it after hearing you tell the Bear and the Sparrow.” He leaned in and nudged her with his shoulder with a laugh. “But sure, I can tell a few to pass the time. What would you like to hear?”

Pyrrha nudged him back, then took a moment to think. “What kind of stories do you know?”

This time Jaune's laugh was genuine but edged with a tiny bit of lament. “All of them. Sickly child, remember? My eldest sister bought this huge book of tales off a peddler from the River Kingdoms when I was six or so, and I sat at the knee of every bard and storyspinner who every so much as glanced at Croceatta. The question really is what do you want to hear? Comedy, Romance, Drama, Adventure? Something silly or something meant to tell a lesson?”

“Are there any with dragons in them?” was the immediate playful reply.

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. “Not many that are very flattering, I'm afraid.” Most positive stories about dragons were more recounted history than 'story'. Not even the heroism of many dragons during the war with the hailene hadn't done enough to rehabilitate the reputation that helped build the original tales of oppression, murder and mayhem.

“I expected as much,” Pyrrha agreed absently, wondering if there would ever be a classic tail of a heroic dragon. “How about we start with an adventure then?”

Jaune settled back against the root, in the process re-positioning himself so they were shoulder to shoulder. “Good choice. And I think I've got just the one—one of my favorites: The Phoenix's Bond. Have you heard it before?” Pyrrha shook her head.

He'd expected as much: it appeared to have been an original from the bard who passed through Croceatta five years prior during the summer. The man, prematurely white-haired and aloof, had been shadowing the champion whose exploits he'd been chronicling, a blonde woman who proved to be a vox mage of truly incredible power. She'd assembled a shed for one of the Arc's neighbors with a flick of her wrist and lifted an injured horse out of a creek sans any signs that it cost her any effort at all. All of that bard's story that weren't about his designated heroine were seemingly completely original and that was impressive considering how many bards, minstrels and storyspinners depended on modifications of tried and true classics.

And so he launched into the tale, putting his all into it for the sake of entertaining Pyrrha. After The Phoenix's Bond, he segued into The Giving Beast, and then the light and comedic Story of Timath and Seguerine while they actually did the work of setting up camp and starting supper cooking.

His showmanship was getting the better of him as the sun began to set and he moved on to what he understood to be an almost universal favorite: the Love Story of the Light and the Die—an epic, sprawling yarn wherein the god of revelry and luck, Pandemos accepted a wager to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt the strength of his love for the goddess of light and protection, Hessa. The One Dice Rolling had done so by arranging for the two to be incarnated in mortal bodies; himself as a traveling peddler and a her as a templar of her own holy order. Through a series of both comedic and dramatic misadventures, they eventually found one another and slowly fell in love once more, thus winning Pandemos a bet—and earning him a few choice words from his lady love.

He'd almost finished when a howl split the falling night.

Pyrrha blinked in surprise at the mix of emotions that flicked across Jaune's face when he heard it, especially coupled with how his storytelling stuttered to a stop. “Timber wolves,” she assured him, “Nothing we need to worry about. They'll stay clear of the fire.”

An answering howl, this one much closer and louder made both of them stop and pay attention. It sounded deep with more reverberation in it. Jaune hurriedly got to his feet. “Dire wolves,” he corrected. “I'd better set up the screen spell. Can't believe I got so wrapped up that I forgot.”

As he headed across their little clearing toward the tent where his ritual casting reagents were stored, Pyrrha stood as well, drawing her katars just in case. In the meantime, she decided to keep the mood light. “You know... Azelia is full and alone in the sky tonight—maybe it's werewolves.”

“If only.” Jaune laughed, coming out of the tent with the ritual book, several vials and a rolled piece of oil cloth. “Pretty much nothing short of a spirit beast will try and prey on a werewolf.”

That was news to Pyrrha. Werewolves were real? She'd only heard of them in the context of stories.

She didn't have time to ponder it before an animal yelp that sounded oddly like a high voice saying the word 'yep' came from above and behind her. Something blurred past her at around the level of her shoulder. It wasn't just that it was moving too fast for her to track, the air around it was actually wavering like a heat haze.

Whatever it was streaked unerringly toward Jaune, knocking him off his feet and onto his back. Upon stopping, it resolved into something that defied Pyrrha's imagination. It could have been called a wolf given its black fur, pointed muzzle and ears. That broke down when one considered the body was all wrong. The thing's hind legs, though currently straddling the prone Jaune were clearly angled to go under the center of mass. Meanwhile, the forelimbs were socketed to the sides of the body like humanoid arms. In this case, they ended in five-fingered hands that ended in sharp, black nails.

Of course any idiot could tell it wasn't a wolf because it was wearing clothes: a simple black divided riding dress belted at the waist by a red-dyed leather belt, oddly shaped boots made to fit an elongated wolf-ankle, and a cloak of some heavy scarlet material to be exact.

And it had hair. Messy, black hair that had been dyed red at the tips.

She'd certainly never seen or heard of anything like it. But seeing as it had just knocked Jaune to the ground in a surprise attack, what it was didn't matter so much as how to dispatch it and save her traveling companion. No sooner had she started moving forward with her katars at the ready than the creature spoke.

“Tag!” It—or rather she going by the voice—said. Her cloak thrashed, no doubt because it was covering a frantically wagging tail. The creature sat back on her haunches, relieving the pressure she was putting on Jaune's chest. “Speak our name and we shall appear!” She cut off with a snerk and a cackle. “No, I'm kidding. We caught your scent like two hours ago and decided to come say 'hi'!”

“Good to see you too, Rubes.” Jaune said, trying to catch his breath. “Could ya get off my though? You've gotten heavy since I last saw you.”

“Oops. Hee hee.” 'Rubes' scooted backward off of him to end up balanced on her toes, elbows on her knees. Her nose twitched and for the first time, she registered Pyrrha, turning to wave. “Hiya! I'm Ruby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: You guys asked for it, so here we go, Ruby is here and she's a werewolf. Yang and the lest of the Branwen/Xiao Long family will be along shortly. I had the vague plan originally that Jaune learned his woodcraft from 'monsters', so it wasn't that big a leap to get here.
> 
> That they're wereolves in particular is a nod to Solara Goldsun's excellent fic Once in a Shattered Moon, which is both a werewolf AU and just a high quality slowburn Arkos story in and of itself. I highly recommend it.
> 
> We'll learn a bit about how Ere werewolves work next chapter, but they're not D&D chaotic monsters because in case you haven't noticed, I mock alignment and monster stereotypes. Werewolves here (and minotaurs) are based in part on certain Native American skinwalker traditions and the story of Sitting Bull performing the ghost dance before the Trail of Tears fully fell upon his people. Here the orcs were the natives and in the war that happened 60 years ago in this story, they pulled out all the stops to save their people from subjugation. Minotaurs are the result of a successful ritual while werewolves are the result of a failed one.
> 
> Anyway, backing up a bit, yes 'cerato' means ceratopsian. The herd here is triceratops while the Arc apparently raise protoceratops and/or monoclonius. Bonus nerd points: the legend of the griffin comes from protoceratops fossils found near one of the places believed to be King Solomon's mines. So if there's a NYSG Torchwick, he should stay the hell away from the Arc farm.
> 
> And yes, the bard and force witch are a reference to Ozpin and Goodwitch.
> 
> A little bit of relationship stuff going on here. Keeping it slow and simple until we hit Croceatta and things take a turn.
> 
> Anyway, that's it for this installment. Next chapter: We Are As Wolves.


	18. We Are As Wolves

Like many of the races of Ere, Pyrrha only knew of orcs from stories she'd overheard and passing mentions by her broodmother.

They had been on Ere when the Vishanri Pantheon arrived, bringing with them the demihuman races, the dragons and the hailene. Survivors of a cataclysm now lost to time immemorial alongside those others now so cruelly called the 'savage' races of goblin, ogre, troll and kobold, they once ruled the eastern half of the continent.

Then came the age of Draconic Control and where most of demihumanity bent knee in the face of an insurmountable power gap, the orcs went to war and had their civilization crushed for it. Scattered into disparate clans and tribes hiding from vengeful dragons, they'd broken tradition and reached out gods alien to them, the Vishnari and were answered by a gift from the goddess Sylph.

Known collectively as the Beast Dances, they were powerful rituals performed under the light of Azelia the green moon and the home of their new patron to imbue them with with the abilities and characteristics of a given beast.

At least when performed correctly and with proper reverence to Sylph. Most famously, at the height of the War of Ascension with the hailene bent on exterminating their race, the orcs mustered a clan of clans and five hundred thousand of them performed the Bull Dance, forever transforming themselves and all of their line into the mighty people known as the minotaurs.

Failure, however could turn the blessing into a lingering curse of animal instincts, inability to control the changes granted, and most worryingly, the curse becoming a contagion that passed to other through the mingling of bodily fluids. Over the centuries, failed attempts at the Beast Dances had given rise to the affliction known as theranthropy, the most famous strain of which were the werewolves.

The legends were quite clear: normal folk by day, the light of the green moon transformed them by night into terrors that stalked the night in howling frenzies, hunting those they loved and cared for as prey. Werewolf stories were always tragedies and horrors; tales of lives turned to shambles by a chance meeting and a fateful bite.

Which served to make the incredibly cheerful creature before her even more confusing.

Instead of a slavering lupine monster, Ruby was all wide-eyed excitement and cheerfulness as she bounded to her feet and immediately invaded Pyrrha's personal space. What was slightly less endearing was how her focus fell almost entirely on her weapons.

“Ooo, katars. You don't usually get these in the valley. Nah everyone likes old classics like swords or something you can put a lot of brute strength behind like hammers and maces. That or that go for the polearms because it' always nice to not get to close to whatever you're fighting. The only folks I ever knew who used katars were a few elves up north.”

She had to get precariously up on her hind claws to do so, but she reached up and felt Pyrrha's ears. “Nope. Not an elf. So who taught you to use those? Were they an elf?”

“Um...” Pyrrha struggled to keep up with the girl's rapid-fire rambling.

“Coming on a little strong there, Rubes.” Jaune slowly got to his feet, chuckling slightly at the memory of their first meeting. He dusted himself off and joined the two, using a hand on the little werewolf's shoulder to subtly maneuver her so Pyrrha had a bit more breathing room. “But really it's great to see you. Where's—”

He was cut off by a sharp growl and the sound of something heavy landing atop the huge root surrounding their little campsite. “Ruby?” The voice was female a well, but not as perky and upbeat as Ruby's. There was concern in her tone, concern that suddenly put Pyrrha in the mind of a mother bear searching for her cub. “Ruby! Are you completely out of your mind? You can't just charge into someone's camp at night. You could have gotten yourself stabbed.”

“Found her.” Jaune deadpanned.

There was a rustle of fabric and then a small tremor of impact far too close for comfort. Instincts Pyrrha didn't know she even had fought to try and make her whirl, katars bared. It took great discipline for her to keep her weapons slack at her sides and merely turn her upper torso to look at who or what was behind her.

Now there was a werewolf.

A head and a half taller than her and three times as wide at the shoulder, the new werewolf ha tawny fur that darkened to a burnished golden ruff about her head and neck. Lavender eyes burned with intensity as she loomed over the dragoness, fixated on the katars that could very well have ended her charge.

The only thing separating the newcomer from the very image of lycanthropy was that, like Ruby, she was dressed in far better clothes than the tatters normally depicted in stories. A brown skirt of good quality leather was cinched by a belt with a gold buckle depicting the image of a burning heart-shaped flower. Over a cream colored blouse, she had donned a hide vest. Unlike Ruby, she's chosen to go shoeless, but wore a set of fingerless gloves covered in copper scales.

It was all in all an intimidating image, though logically Pyrrha felt sure she was the physically stronger of the two. She would win in a fight, but she'd pay for it.

Ruby on the other hand reacted with indignant. “Yang,” she whined. “I would've been fine. I mean she's traveling with Jaune, so I'm sure she's good people.”

The bigger wolf snorted, the hard features becoming something distinctly more impish as she held in a laugh at the smaller of the two puffing up her cheeks in annoyance. “Yeah, because good people would just stand by when some strange critter flies out of the darkness and tackles a guy to the ground.”

She looked to Pyrrha and cocked her head to the side before offering her hand. “Sorry about my sister. I'm Yang, this is Ruby and any friend of Jaune's is a friend of...” she paused and took a deep sniff, a sly look crossing her features, “Or more than a friend. Jaune, you tomcat.”

With one huge paw, she reached out and ruffled his hair. “What a difference two years make! What happened to the tall scraggly kid who did nothing but whine that no farmer's daughters would bid even a loaf of bid for him at the block?”

Pyrrha goggled at the implication and stammered. “I-it's not like that. We're merely traveling companions.” Her brain didn't feel that denial was quite enough, so she continued on, falling back to the lie they'd concocted. “Jaune saved me from the lair of the red dragon in the western mountains a-and.”

“Ooo.” Yang winked and elbowed her in the ribs, a gesture that would have left bruises on a normal woman. “Rescue romance. But seriously: how did you really meet?”

“But that is how we met.” And to a certain extent it was true as well.

The tawny wolf rolled her eyes. “Yeah right. Jaune vs a dragon? I know the red up there isn't super-old, but if Jaune tangled with him, he'd be dead. Jaune that is, not the dragon. No offense, Jaune.”

“None taken.” Jaune shrugged, “Also it's 'she'.”

“Huh?”

“She. The dragon's a she. And Pyrrha's telling the truth: I convinced the dragon not to kill me and escaped her lair with Pyrrha.” He worded it very carefully.

Ruby's eyes went wide. “Really? Like in the stories?” Moving with speeds bordering on the supernatural, Ruby zipped over to Pyrrha's side, hands over her mouth in awe. “Oh my goodness! He rescued you from a dragon! That's so amazing! Jaune's great and all, but I never thought he had it in him!” An eyes hit her and a giddy inner light filled her eyes. “Gods above—are you also a princess? Because that would just be too perfect!”

Pyrrha rubbed her shoulder, feeling self conscious about the lie she'd concocted now that she was hearing it coming from Ruby's mouth.

“Well actually...” the words hadn't come from her mouth but from Jaune's. “Yang, Ruby? I'd guess I should introduce you to Pyrrha Nikos of the River Kingdom of Nikosia. Pyrrha, these are Ruby of the Roses and Yang Xiao Long of the Get of Shuck.” He coughed into his fist. “And yeah, she's a princess. Kinda. I don't think they use the title there.”

The two werewolves gaped, staring at the pair for far too long to be polite. “Really?!” Ruby squealed, beside herself with excitement.

Yang just burst out into laughter, slapping Ruby on the back. “Oh come on, sis. They're having us on.” She leaned in toward the pair, shaking her head. “I know you like your tales, Jaune, but you really don't have to make up wild stories to explain why you're together. We're not little kids here. Well, except Ruby.”

“Hey! I'm not a kid either!” Ruby fumed, pouting like a child.

Jaune held up his hands defensively. “We're not lying. And we're not together. Not like you're implying anyway.”

Again, Yang scoffed. A clawed finger pointed toward her nose. “Who do you think you're fooling? I caught your scent on her before I caught her scent on her. You don't mingle scents like that by being 'just' traveling companions.”

“Jaune's ornis was killed by a h... a spirit beast a week back; to keep supplies light we've been sharing blankets at night,” Pyrrha offered quickly, not wanting the discussion to wend any farther in that direction. She found she wasn't repelled by the idea, but Jaune had to be mortified by the accusation.

Her confidence that this was the case was strengthened by Jaune immediately changing the subject. “Um, so what are you two doing out here? Where's your dad and uncle and Ruby's mom?”

“They'd better be waiting for us in Croceatta.” Yang said dryly. “Dad promised that's where we'd meet once were were done training.”

More than willing to add to the conversational derailment, Pyrrha asked the obvious question. “Training?”

“With the elves!” Ruby volunteered gleefully. “Uncle Qrow called in some favors and got us into the Six Divine Elements School of War. Jaune this is so cool, you've got to see what we can do now!” She started to move back from the group, intent on showing off, only for Yang to arrest her movement by grabbing the back of her collar.

“Hold on there, short stuff. Save it for the exhibitions. Jaune's princess here looks like she can actually give and take in a scrap—you might need the leg up against her.”

Pyrrha started to protest. “I'm not actually his--”

“Yang!” Ruby complained. “I'm a werewolf and she's just a plain old human—no offense.”

“None taken?”

Ruby nodded. “I'm not going to need any leg up for that fight. I've got to be at least three times as strong as her.”

Yang gave Pyrrha a look, then rolled her eyes. “I dunno, Rubes, Princess could still wreck you with those punching daggers, strength or no. But more importantly, don't you remember the rule for this festival?”

At this, Ruby pouted. “I haven't even though it's stupid. What's the point of even being a werewolf if you've gotta go around in 'normal' form.”

Jaune raised an eyebrow. “Since when has the Get ever had to hide what they were in the Valley, much less Croceatta.”

Another eye roll from Yang. She folded her arms, looking smug. “Oh I thought our mighty dragon-slayer would know.”

“Know what?”

“That nasty fetcher Citraan has a bounty out on monsters: nobility and an estate for the man who scores the finishing blow on the God's Sword, and five thousand for the red dragon in the west and any other dragons in the valley, another five for spirit beasts, and five hundred for a whole list of other things. Other things includes werewolves.”

“I never heard of a bounty on anything but the dragons.” Jaune said, a deep frown creasing his features.

Yang shook her head. “Might be new. Either way, we all know where this is headed: Citraan wouldn't be the first to run out all the 'monsters', then the 'savage races', then anyone else they don't like.”

“You think the Shamblethorn Tribe's heard of this?” asked Jaune. Realizing Pyrrha was out of the loop, he quickly explained: “The Shamblethorns used to be an orc tribe native to the Valley. My Grandmother united them with the other uh... non-demihumans: the ogres, goblins and kobolds... against the hailene. They'd been friends to Croceatta and our neighbors ever since.”

“We'll see soon enough if they've heard,” said Yang, “You know Uestas never misses a Croceatta Planter's Festival.” She took a deep breath and returned her expression to something brighter. “But that's something we deal with when we deal with it. It's actually a good thing those damned ceratos blocked us from the bridge—gives us a chance to catch up with you without all that tension.” Then she flashed a dangerous grin at Pyrrha. “And we'll get a chance to tell some embarrassing stories about you to your lady.”

RWBYRWBYRWBY

With three people experienced with woodcraft present, a fire was made and dinner prepared in no time. Ruby dashed off to where she'd dropped their packs when she caught scent of Jaune, returning with a couple of fat rabbits the pair had killed to contribute to the stew.

True to their word, the werewolf sisters started in on the tales, starting with how his sister Blanche made him wear a dress and practice dancing and moving right on to his time with the Get of Shuck wherein he'd gotten himself stuck upside down in a tree while out trying to pick fruit.

This progressed to a yarn about his first time hunting with the Get and how he'd ended up being chased by an angry mule deer buck.

While those stories all made her laugh, Pyrrha soon decided to come to Jaune's defense by telling them about their encounter with the ospreshrike.

“Your instant pit still explodes?” Yang guffawed, focusing on the wrong thing from that story. “I remember Dad spending hours with you trying to get it right. Bet he never thought to use it to drop a tree on something though.” She reached over and slapped Jaune on the back. “That's where you always shined; thinking at things crossways from normal.”

Her attention flipped back to Pyrrha. “So is that how he rescued you from the 'dragon'?”

Put on the spot, Pyrrha thought quickly. “You could say that. He was able to stop her from attacking him by talking to her.” She looked over to Jaune with fondness, “Then he convinced her to leave her lair. He was just that guileful and persuasive.”

Yang just stared for a second. “Wait. What?”

Ruby coughed, choking on a mouthful of stew. “Yeah! You tell us Jaune rescued you from a dragon and there's no epic battle or anything? He just talked to her and that's it?”

“I happen to think that was impressive enough,” Pyrrha sniffed, genuinely affronted that they didn't appreciate the feat. “How many dragons had you two faced down?”

“None!” Ruby said with maximum exuberance. “But really? Not even a little swordplay or breath weapons? Red are supposed to spit this burning fluid that sticks to things. I wish I could see it—maybe even figure out how to make some.”

Jaune, who had just sat by and let the waves of embarrassment crash over him, finally piped up. “Well she did spit one burning glob, but at my feet as a warning. After that, I turned on the famous Arc charm and convinced her to leave and let me take Pyrrha out of there. Sorry it's not impressive, but that's what happened. She didn't have any way of knowing I stink at fighting and magic, so she thought she had a lot at stake in trying to fight me.”

Yang raised a shaggy brow. “So you bluffed a dragon. With that bar of rust you call a sword and that clockwork toy shield? And it worked?” She roared with laughter loud enough that some of the distant bull ceratos let out lows of complaint. “Now there's something I can believe you did, Jaune. Uncle Qrow always said your mind was like a corkscrew.”

She regarded Pyrrha with bright, inquisitive eyes. “So what's your story, Princess? How'd you end up as part of a dragon hoard?”

Now that it was time to start lying, Pyrrha felt more in her wheelhouse with lots of old stories to draw on. “I'm what you would call a 'spare heir'. Fourth of five, actually. There are no lands or titles for me in our tiny kingdom so it was up to me the make my own fortune. I joined up with an adventuring party for only two months before we caught wind of there being a young, vulnerable dragon sitting on a pile of wealth.

“We were wrong on all counts but that she was young. As it turns out, no dragon of any age is vulnerable and her wealth amounted to maybe two bags of copper—small enough that she though a princess's ransom was worth more than killing me.”

She put on what she hoped was a pained expression and leaned toward Jaune. “I spent the better part of the winter in her lair while she waited for the weather to be nice enough to fly to Nikosia and replay her demands.” She affected a sad smile and added, “I suppose we were all mistaken, as my family wouldn't have paid more than maybe a handful of weights in gold for my return—if that.”

Once more, she shifted her attention to Jaune, “So I'm doubly indebted to Jaune; both for saving me, and by accepting my life's debt giving me a clearer path to my future. By his side; my blades at his service.”

Ruby looked at them with stars in her eyes. “By Azelia, that's so romantic.”

“She just said she's like his personal mercenary, Ruby,” Yang chided.

“I know.” Ruby didn't look any less dreamy at the arrangement.

“And with that, I think I'm going to go to turn in.” Jaune faked a yawn. “The herd could move at any time, so we should be up early to cross the bridge as soon as it's clear.”

Yang grinned, baring terrible fangs. “Don't leave on our account.”

“Just letting myself get re-accustomed to this level of teasing with short exposures.” Jaune waved her off on his way to the tent where his and Pyrrha's things were stored. Ruby had set up a comparatively larger yurt made of layered furs next to it while dinner had been cooking. It was a smaller version of the same kind the entire Get of Shuck plus Jaune had used over the time he'd lived and studied woodcraft with them.

He allowed himself a sigh of nostalgic memory before crawling into his tent and slipping into his bedroll.

However many minutes passed, Jaune didn't know, but eventually, he heard the tent flap rustle and Pyrrha crawled in, heading straight to where she'd left her bedroll—next to his. Almost automatically, he rolled over and pulled his covers aside to give her access to tuck in close to him as she had for the past week.

That didn't happen this time, however. Instead, he heard a dragging sound and opened his eyes to see Pyrrha pulling her bedding toward the far side of the tent. It was a small tent, but the space she was opening between them was notable.

“Pyrrha?” was all he could think to ask.

In the dim light afforded by the nearby campfire, he saw her school her face carefully. “Yes?” she asked with forced nonchalance.

“Why're you moving over there?”

She stopped what she was doing, luminous green eyes turning toward the bedroll in her hands. “It didn't miss my notice that you were uncomfortable discussion our sleeping arrangement with your friends. And if I recall correctly, you did say that night at the lodge that it was something between only you and I. Now that your friends are here, it is no longer between just us.”

“Yang just likes to tease is all. She ribs me, I get flustered... it's how we work. She's as much my big sister as she is Ruby's in a way. Don't... don't read too much into that talk.”

“You don't have to do something that bothers you for my comfort,” Pyrrha said with finality, dropping herself onto her mat with a thump.

For a moment, Jaune's mind reeled with possibilities as to what to do. Then a tiny spark of resolve struck him and he reached out.

“Jaune—oop!” Pyrrha couldn't hold in a squeak as his arm snaked out to encircle her waist and pulled her closer, dragging her bedding with her. It occurred to her that she could have easily resisted—that he knew she could have dislocated his arm for that if she wanted—but she didn't and he still risked it.

“M-maybe you're not the only one who's more comfortable like this.” Jaune could barely believe what he'd just done.

A pair of luminous green eyes looked up at him as Pyrrha slowly adjusted her position so she was in her customary position, one hand on his chest, head tucked up against his shoulder. The only difference was that for the first time, his arm was around her midsection as well. It felt different from those other times. Better. As if they hadn't really fit together correctly until that moment. “Is that really the truth?”

“Yeah.” He said, whatever resolve had taken possession over slowly wearing off to reveal the nerves beneath.

Pyrrha felt a new warmth at hearing that; something she wasn't even sure the Red Nation had a word for. The power to change one's shape was a complicated thing; it wasn't just a reshaping of the body, but of instincts. That was how one could fly as a bird or work a half dozen limbs as a squid. She was quite sure that right now, she was experiencing a human reaction to the slurry of odd feelings stirring inside her.

She gave up analyzing it and merely hummed happily in the embrace. That seemed to relax Jaune as well and their breathing began to slow and grow more steady.

There was no telling what the future would hold, not even in the next day when they reached Jaune's home town. But the present was a treasure greater than she could have ever added to her hoard.

“Goodnight, Jaune,” she murmured into his shoulder.

“Goodnight, Pyrrha,” he whispered into her hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we have NYSG!Ruby and Yang! Not a lot of characterization yet, but there's plenty of time to learn more about them in Croceatta.
> 
> Summer is also going to have a small role here. I was going to have her have died while the sisters were away, but this isn't that kind of story and I figured I could have some fun with her.
> 
> This is also the first time we've seen people reacting to the pair's story who actually know Jaune. If people are wondering why she didn't mention the naacka, remember that they only won that because she went dragon and ripped its head off. It's way too far fetched to suggest two people took down a spirit beast.
> 
> And of course, the romance is progressing nicely. The pair still aren't sure of their feelings much less each other, but they both know they really like the intimacy they've been sharing. Of course this will make for an interesting situation when they're under the Arc family roof.
> 
> Keep in mind that at least on Pyrrha's part a lot of the romantic talk is purely accidental. She's just trying to follow the old stories, entirely unaware of the tropes she's invoking in doing so.
> 
> On a final note, I'm moving into a new place where internet won't be available for a while, so it may be a week or more between updates and responses to reviews and Pms. I'm not ignoring you, I'm just unavailable more often.
> 
> Next chapter begins the Croceatta arc where we meet the Arc family, the village and maybe another familiar face or two by popular demand.


	19. Reaching Croceatta

Pyrrha woke up to find herself in a slightly new situation. She'd gotten used to waking either with her arms around Jaune, or with him trying to extricate himself from her embrace without waking her. This time yes, it was his arm wrapped securely around her. Something about that made his warmth extra soothing to her.

It was almost enough to lull her back to sleep, but a coppery scent tickled her nose.

Blood. Warm, fresh blood.

A tingle of terror started its way down her spine before she took the time to inhale again, this time examining the scent more closely. A human's olfactory sense was primitive indeed next to a dragon's. If she hadn't gotten very well acquainted with that particular scent and its wild nuances, she never could have muddled through it.

Deer blood then.

Suddenly she was far less afraid and far more hungry.

Finally opening her eyes, she took time to blink sleep out of them before considering the sleeping form of Jaune. He breathed slowly and steadily, a small smile on his face which was just inches from hers. On every exhale, she could feel it on her cheek. The instincts of her human body made muscles twitch in anticipation for something, but she couldn't figure out what. Ignoring them, she contemplated her dilemma.

As much as she was loathe to let this end, something delicious was outside and her stomach really, really wanted it. Normally, she was the second one awake; the natural tendency for dragons to sleep days, weeks or even months if properly fed and left to their own devices bleeding into the human's natural tendency to be as lazy as possible.

Today was an anomaly and she wondered just how to handle it.

When the choice fell to Jaune, he bent to the pressure of his responsibilities and did his best to rise and prepare their morning repast without disturbing her. He was successful at it nearly half the time. Feeling sure she'd be successful zero percent of the time, she decided to just wake him up.

Levering herself up on one elbow, she leaned over him, allowing a cascade of red hair to fall over him. “Jaune...” she called softly. He stirred only a little, muttering something softly in his sleep. “Jaune,” she called a little louder. This time, he woke just enough to miss the pressure of her lying against him and his arm quested blindly for her.

That made her lips quirk into an amused smile. Using the hand not holding her up, she arrested that arm and shook it gently. She was awarded by his eyes opening just a slit.

Wrapped in a blissful cocoon of sleep, Jaune was having the most pleasant dream. As he emerged from that heady cloud of euphoria, his eyes opened and, he found himself looking up into an angelic face whose emerald eyes were full of life, surrounded by a haze of glossy red hair that fell around them like a privacy curtain, leaving them alone in their own little world.

“Good morning, Jaune.”

He wasn't sure if he was still dreaming or not.

“Pyrrha...” was all he managed, though even that made her beam happily.

“I think your friends have caught breakfast for us,” she said. Pushing off on the arm supporting her, she sat up on her knees and stretched. “I thought you wouldn't want to miss it.”

Jaune sat up, rubbing his eyes. “You say that now, but then you realize that for werewolves, 'catching' breakfast doesn't mean cooking it.” After a beat, and a sly grin from his companion, he pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance with himself. “Except that wouldn't bother you.”

She patted his arm. “No no, you were right. I prefer a nice sear on my meat. Though I'm not opposed to eating it fresh from the kill.”

“Great. Another one,” he said playfully. “I'm surrounded by apex predators.”

Few minutes later, the pair emerged from their tent, changes of clothes in hand. The sight that greeted them was a charnel one. A tawny-furred wolf the size of a pony crouched over a mule deer buck, greedily feasting on a line of entrails. Nearby, Ruby was sitting on a log she'd dragged up from somewhere, working on another buck with a hunting knife. She'd spread out an oilcloth tarp beside her onto which she was placing the meat she cut from the carcass. She was up to her elbows in blood and a few spatters had splashed across her cheek.

Yang looked up from her morning repast and gave more of a doggy grin than a dire wolf should be capable of, displaying a mouthful of bloody fangs with gore stuck in it. “Good morning, Princess.” Her shoulders twitched as she anticipated the other's reaction.

“Good morning, Yang. Ruby.” Pyrrha said lightly. “I see you were busy early this morning.”

“Morning!” Ruby chirped, waving with her knife. “Sleep well?”

Pyrrha came to sit on the log next to her. “Very well, thank you. And you?”

Resuming her butchery, Ruby separated a rear haunch from the carcass. “Woulda been better if Yang hadn't woken me up to go hunting.”

An annoyed huff sprayed bits of bloody meat onto the deer's hide at her little prank being ignored. “Can't go to Croceatta empty-handed, sis. We need to bring presents—and what better present than fresh venison?” She turned her attention to Jaune, who was arranging kindling in the fire circle they'd built the night before. “By the way: didn't hear any inappropriate noises coming from your tent last night. I'm very disappointed in you, Jaune.”

Jaune paused his work to glare at her. “Would you give it a rest, already? It's not like that between us.”

“Is that true, Princess?” Yang swung her head around to Pyrrha, giving as suggestive a look as a huge wolf could muster.

“Not like what?” Pyrrha cocked her head in curiosity.

“Yeah, like what?” Ruby asked, also genuinely wanting to know.

The glare Jaune was throwing Yang grew more murderous was Yang's look of glee intensified. “Yang is just putting her muzzle where it doesn't belong.”

“Hmph.” Yang sat up on her haunches. “I'd say it belongs. You're like a brother to me, mop-head. So I have to look after you like I have to look after Ruby.” A devilish light entered her eyes and she got up, sidling her way around Ruby before thrusting her head into the space between them. “But for the unenlightened, when our Jaune-Jaune says like that, he means—”

There was a thrum in the air as Jaune started muttering under his breath. “Eternal river that surrounds the word and nourishes all life...”

Yang cringed. “H-hey! Don't you dare!”

“A cycle unbroken since the start of time. By my bond and by my word, assume your first form...”

Yang's ears drooped and she slunk backward, tail tucking between her legs. “Oh come on! It was just an innocent comment. And I was trying to help! Help, I say!”

But Jaune wasn't having any of it. Now his expression was the same as hers had been before. “Become water! Akua creae!” The air above Yang lit up with blue lights that traced out a complex magic circle with a teardrop-shaped symbol at its heart. In an instant, a bubble of water the size of a pig appeared over her head. It hung in the air just long enough for Yang to let out a whine before dropping on her with a huge splash.

The end result was a pathetic looking dire wolf with her fur clinging to her, looking more like a drowned rat. “That,” she grumbled, “was uncalled for.”

“Yeah, it really was,” replied Jaune, resuming his work.

RWBYRWBYRWBY

By mid-morning, the cerato herd had moved far enough south that the quartet was able to make for the bridge. By then, Yang had dried off, resumed wolfwoman form, and dressed, though she continued to mumble bitterly as they trooped along the main road.

The edge of the sun was touching the tops of the western mountains when she brought them to a halt. “Alright, Rubes. We're less than a mile until we're in view of the gates. You know what to do.”

The younger sister's ears flattened against her head. “Aw Yang, I don't wanna. Being human is cold and itchy and I'm almost a foot shorter! And the senses! It's like having your head in a box. Being human is awful!” She paused and gave a shy wave to Jaune and Pyrrha. “Heehee. No offense, humans.”

“Oh, it's not so bad,” Pyrrha replied, half-distracted by her excitement over finally reaching Croceatta. “Your skin doesn't dry out as quickly, and th—we're surprisingly dexterous.”

While Jaune cringed, Yang snuck up behind Ruby and flicked her ears. “See? This is why I made you promise to change before we were in sight of the town.”

“But everyone there already knows us,” pouted Ruby.

“We both know that's not true during festival. People stop by from all over the valley, plus traders and who knows who else? And what if some goon that's seen those bounties is there? Do you want to end up stuffed in that toad Citraan's parlor?” Yang was fretting by the end of her little speech.

Ruby, however, wasn't done. “Well I don't see you changing.”

“I'm just making sure you change first,” the older sister snapped, “but if you insist...” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. A pale, green glow shone forth as the light of Azelia was returned to its source. At the same time, her fur seemed to burn away, revealing pink skin beneath.

Pyrrha was fairly certain it was rude to stare, but she couldn't stop watching; Yang's transformation wasn't the bone-cracking, body-stretching nightmare hers was. Rather, it was a steady, gentle process as her body simply flowed like water being poured into a new container.

Her muzzle shortened and separated into a mouth and nose, her ears slid down to the sides of her head, and her tail simply dissolved into a diffusion of moonlight. Within a span of a few moments, Yang stood before them; still herself somehow—same wild main of now-blonde hair, same impertinent smirk—but human. She'd lost a good foot in height and a great deal of muscle, but as a human, her body was still as strong and powerful as ever.

“Now you, Ruby.” Yang instructed, sounding every bit the matron.

Again, Ruby pouted, but the stare of her big sister finally made her relent. Once more, the light of Azelia overwrote that of the sun and Ruby too transformed. In the end, she stood before them, five-foot nothing with her red-tipped hair falling into her face. Hugging herself, she shivered. “Cold and itchy,” she complained.

“Here you go, Ruby.” Pyrrha unfastened the heat-conserving cloak and laid it over the younger girl's shoulders. “Better?”

“Still itchy.”

Yang smirked at Jaune. “Isn't that the magic cloak you won at the Harvest Festival that time?”

Folding his arms, Jaune picked up his pace in a futile attempt to put some space between himself and his grinning tormentor. “Winter just ended and she gets cold easier than me.”

“I seem to remember the winter you spent with us.” She then did a terrible imitation of Jaune's voice. “'Sorry, but this is the only thing I've ever earned on my own. I can't just hand it over to you whenever you want it'. I don't remember you caring how easily we got cold. Me, Ruby or Summer.”

“First of all,” Jaune held up a finger without looking back, “You're wolves! With fur! I'm like Ruby said all pink and cold and... okay, I'm not itchy, but everything else she said. And second, you weren't trying to keep warm when I said that.”

Ruby stage whispered conspiratorially to Pyrrha, “She was trying to use it to carry fish.”

“Hey! It was a lot of fish, okay? The salmon were spawning and for once we beat those stupid bears to the best spot. It was an emergency, and you failed to come through in an emergency, yellowtail.”

It was a joke. Yang's cheeky expression and light tone made that clear. Still Jaune flinched at the implication and it was at that point even she knew she'd gone too far given her friend's hang-ups. Springing forward, she threw and arm around his shoulder. “Come on, it's not like that. You know I didn't mean it, okay?”

“It's fine, Yang.” he said flatly. “I get it.”

Pyrrha started to quicken her step to catch up, only for Ruby to grab her arm and fervently shake her head. “It's alright,” she told the younger girl, “I know all about it.”

“Really?” the little werewolf's eyes widened. “It took us the better part of a year to find out what his deal was. How long have you been traveling together?”

Feeling more that a little self-conscious at the implications, Pyrrha chewed her bottom lip. “A little under two weeks?”

“Wow...” Ruby said with something akin to hushed reverence.

Meanwhile, Yang frowned as Jaune continued to pretend (in a rather poor fashion) that her comments hadn't struck a painful chord. Assurances failing her, she fell back to her old standby: distraction. And this time she had a perfect topic.

With a swift adjustment, she turned her supportive side-hug into a headlock. “So... your Princess back there,” she started, lowering her voice.

“Yang,” he hissed back, “I told you there's nothing between us. Can you please just give it a rest?”

“I get that,” she hissed back. Then she applied a bit of pressure to the headlock. “Is it because she's not a demihuman?” That came back as a low, unhappy growl.

Jaune blinked at the question, “You know she's...”

“Well I do now. I suspected once I actually got a good whiff of her. I don't know what she is, but there's something under the human part—not elf or orc, or any other demihumans I know of. I'm not gonna ask what, but since it's clear you do know. Is that really what's holding you back? I thought better of you, pork pie.”

Trying futile to escape the tightening lock, Jaune shot her a glare. “How could you even... no, Yang. No. That's not it. I mean do you really think I'd be like that given I'm friends with you and Ruby and Ren ad Nora?”

“Friends is different,” Yang reduced the pressure she was putting on him until her arm was just draped over his shoulder again. “So what's the problem? You two seem to be getting along good enough. Really good if you take my meaning.”

Jaune squeezed his eyes closed. “That... doesn't mean anything to her, okay? I was being honest when I said she gets cold easily and we're just sharing body heat at night. Literally just sharing body heat.”

It didn't take any more than the way he said it for Yang to figure out the way his thoughts were going. More than a few Croceatta festivals had gone by where she'd watched her friend being passed over on the block. More rejection wasn't good for him.

“What about all the stuff she talks about—swearing herself to you and the story about rescuing her from the drag...” The wheels in her mind finally clicked on the final piece of the puzzle. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” said Jaune, shoulders slumping. “I can't explain it all to you without discussing it with her first, but it's all a scam, okay?”

“Aw, come on, mop-head. Festival days are here and as far as anyone who isn't a werewolf, you're a big hero who literally saved a princess from a dragon.” She gave him a slap on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “Leave it to Big Sister; this year is gonna be different for you. Better different.”

Unaware of the discussion up ahead, Pyrrha was content to calmly chat away with Ruby. “Um... so it was your family is very good at woodcraft, I take it?”

Ruby puffed out her chest with pride. “Yup. We trade herbs and furs with Croceatta quite a lot. Didn't really know Jaune all that well until the day he asked my Uncle Qrow to teach him how to survive in the wild. It was really weird, since you guys aren't usually all that excited about spending more time than you need outside of your walls.”

“I've actually been really enjoying our time traveling,” Pyrrha said.

“That's good to hear. Though even I wouldn't want to stay away from Croceatta during a festival. Out of all the places in the valley, I like it the best. I think you'll like it too.”

Noticing a hint of sadness, Pyrrha looked down at her. “Is everything okay?”

Ruby sniffed. “I just... every other time we've come to Croceatta, we've never had to hide who we were. People there were nice to us—almost none of them were afraid we'd freak out and eat them or accidentally use the same fork as them and turn them. And if this keeps up and the bounties stay, we might have to leave the valley entirely.”

“Jaune actually said something similar; that he was going to confront m... the dragon to earn money to get his family out of the valley, “ Pyrrha recalled.

A moment of quiet passed between the two women as the group emerged from the forest and beheld a ten-foot masonry wall. All the trees within fifty-feet of the wall had been clear-cut down to the stumps, leaving an open field that made it easier for defenders on the parapets to spot and shoot down attackers.

“Then this might be the last Planter's Festival at Croceatta for all of us,” Ruby said quietly.

Pyrrha patted the little werewolf on the head fondly. “Then we'll have to make it the best one then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As often happens with this fic, one little sequence turned into a full chapter.
> 
> The culprit this time was Yang. I've had fun with her over in the other AUs, but this is the first time where I've really gotten to dig into something more than her merry prankster mode and get into supportive Big Sis and team mom.
> 
> At the same time, it was also Yang that finally broke the back of not having Jaune admit (in a way) what he feels and how he thinks of things. Clearly he's over the whole dragon thing and into more typical Jaune hang-ups.
> 
> Pyrrha, of course remains blissfully unaware of both their feelings and is forging a fast friendship with Ruby. Speaking of which: one of the character interactions I feel was missing from canon. I'm not even sure Pyrrha and Ruby ever even talked to one another outside of the group scenes and I think that would have been an interesting chemistry.
> 
> I've decided to have Ruby and Yang stick around post-Croceatta arc, which is why I hit the idea that Citraan is a threat to their way of life so hard here. Having them around gives me more character interaction combinations to play with and gives both our leads someone to talk to in the long run.
> 
> Next chapter, we actually hit Croceatta and meet the Arc family, the Get of Shuck, and get to see Nora and Ren Ere-style. Yang tries to increase Jaune's standing among the women at the festival with predictability disastrous results. Oh, and I homage my favorite scene from Spice and Wolf.


	20. All Things Familiar and Not

After being greeted by the sentries at the western gate, all of whom knew Jaune and most of whom knew the werewolf sisters, the quartet still had a long walk ahead of them. Unlike Sol Sodatta, which only protect their fields with a low stone wall, Croceatta's farmland was entirely enclosed by a strong outer wall while the town proper was protected by a second wall.

As the travelers walked the two miles between walls, they could see that Croceatta was already gearing up for the planting. Rhino ceratos; only two thirds the size of the wild tri-horns that had blocked their way earlier, muscled their way across the land, dragging massive plows tended by teams of men and women tasked with making the land ready for sowing. In other fields, the earth tilled itself under the patient command of the town's handful of ere-adepts—earth focused mages. Here and there, riders in bright blue cloaks rode out on ornises, distributing water and encouragement to the workers in the field.

No doubt a great deal of that encouragement involved the promise of good drink, food and diversion when the Festival went into full swing come sundown.

On the plaza around the inner wall's gate, a small village of tents had sprung up. Not the small single and two-person tents Pyrrha knew from watching adventurers and explorers in the mountains, but several great pavilions made of thin, stitched-together hides. From their poles flew banners emblazoned with the knot of green briers on a field of white with a red fringe—the symbol of the Shamblethorns.

As they approached, Pyrrha stifled a gasp. The people milling around those tents were not demihumans. In fact, they were beings she'd never seen in person before, only heard of in stories. Head and shoulders above all others were the minotaurs and ogres.

Sometimes topping eight feet in height, the minotaurs had strong, bulky builds balanced on powerful legs with backward-bent knees and heavy hooves. Their horns spread out from their heads like unstrung bows; some more curved than others, all sharp and intimidating. Their faces blended cow and man; forward set eyes with short muzzles.

Taller still were the ogres; bulky in every proportion with green-hued skin that marked them as kin to the orcs and dark red or orange hair on both their heads and forearms. Many were incredibly fat by human standard, but moved as if none of their girth weighted them down.

Smaller figures scurried about too. The goblins were on average shorter than humans; the tallest topping out at five feet tall in boots. Their skin ranged from yellow to green, to burnt oranges and reds and they were distinctive for their large ears shaped like bat wings and their long, pronounced noses.

There were kobolds too. Less numerous than the goblins, they were smaller, none larger than three feet in height. Their features combined the scaled and thick-tailed bodies of bipedal reptiles with triangular ears atop their heads and wide, soulful eyes like dogs.

And finally there were the hobs. 'Hobs' were not a true race; more like a sliding scale of how much orc blood a given bloodline had. Most were human-sized with skin ranging from yellowish green to darker shades of green or tan. Universally, they had stiff black hair and nails that could be considered claws.

She must have been staring too overtly, because beside her, Yang cleared her throat. “Look, maybe there's no pre-saints where you come from, but gawking at 'em isn't gonna make you any friends, okay?”

Before she could think of something better to say, Pyrrha's mouth spoke first: “Pre-saint?”

“From before Saint's Landing. You know, when the Vishnari brought the demihumans and dragons. We—well they—” she corrected since her father was a human-turned werewolf and her mother only half-orcish, “were here way before anyone else.”

“She made that word up because she says she ought to be proud of her orcy-ness.”

“I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to stare,” said Pyrrha. “It's just that I've only really had experience with humans, halfings, elves and... half-elves. Oh—and I saw a hailene once. A dead one.” He'd frozen to death in the cave that eventually become her home.

Yang gave her a look that made Pyrrha wonder what it was Yang knew that she didn't. “You're pretty damn sheltered, aren't you, Princess? Hard to believe a royal snot-nose that's never met a goblin is out running around as an adventurer.”

“Yang, be nice,” admonished Ruby.

“Just saying.” By that time, they'd entered into the miniature tent city. A few passers-by nodded in acknowledgment to Jaune and to a lesser extent the werewolf sisters.

Deciding the let Yang's teasing slide, Pyrrha focused on that. “You all seem well known by these people.”

Jaune shrugged. “More like my family's well known. Like I said before, my grandmother brought them all together to drive out the hailene. And technically, the Get of Shuck—Yang and Ruby's family—are part of the Shamblethorns. The original Shamblethorn orcs.”

“Yup!” Ruby piped up cheerfully. “Yang's mom turned our dad and Dad turned my mom. And for werewolves, being turned is as good as blood.”

After a few more exchanges of greetings, they entered Croceatta proper. Unlike Sol Sodatta, it had grown in a more organic fashion with houses and shops arranged haphazardly wherever the original builders felt like it. The paths weren't so much formal streets so much as places where the grass was worn away by foot traffic or delineations between stalls or flower boxes.

Instead of a town plaza, there were a lot of big, common yards shared by clusters of homes. Festival stalls and other facilities for he festival had sprung up organically in those. Here there were hawkers selling their wares, elsewhere warriors and spellcasters fought exhibitions in circles of light, while elsewhere tents and pavilions had been set up for entertainers to ply their trade.

“Oh wow,” Ruby was almost drooling. “There's even more stuff than last year! Look Yang: There's a weapon smith from out west. Do you think they might have gonnes? I've wanted one ever since last year when we saw that exhibition and Nora said she was going to build one. Do you think Nora's here this year? I hope she is!”

Yang put both hands on her sister's shoulder to keep her still. “Hold on there, kiddo. Don't you think we should check in with your mom and Dad and Uncle Qrow? It has been a long time.”

For a split second, before she justified it to herself, Ruby looked guilty. “Well yeah, but it's a big town and the Festival—I mean it's gonna take time to find them, right?”

“If it's like last time the Get was at a Festival,” Jaune piped up, “Your mom and my mom will be hatching some moneymaking scheme at my house.” He nodded toward the town stretched out before them. “Which is on the other side of all this, so I don't seen any harm in checking out some of the festival on the way.”

“Yes!” Ruby exclaimed, grabbing her sister by the arm. All of Yang's weight advantage and strength seemed to mean nothing as the smaller sister literally dragged her to the nearest stall displaying weaponry.

Jaune let out a laugh and looked to Pyrrha. “So what do you want to see or do first?”

It was almost cruel putting that question to her. There was so much going on and more that she hadn't even seen yet. Plus, it was getting on past the time they'd have normally stopped for their midday meal and everything smelled so good.

“I can't decide,” she said truthfully. “You have experience with this: why don't you pick something we'll both like?”

There wasn't any arguing with that logic, so Jaune paused for thought. “How about we get something to eat first.” He led her over to a stall where a handful of men were battering pieces of poultry in egg and flour and frying them in hot oil. Even for a member of one of only two dragon nations that actually did know how to cook, she'd never seen or tasted anything like it.

“This is delightful!” she said, crunching into what she assumed was a wing.

“You don't usually eat the bon... you know what? Never mind. Enjoy yourself.” Jaune shook his head and took a bite of his drumstick.

They wandered a bit, pausing now and again to take in an exhibition or two, ranging from a trick glassblower to Southern Style polearm dueling. Aside from the fried chicken, they also sampled a sort of stew served in an edible bowl made of bread, skewers of local roasted vegetables, and a light desert of crystallized honey flavored with fruit juice, constructing a rather substantial luncheon on the move.

As they went, Pyrrha watched the people as well. They were from all walks of life and it seemed like every race but hailene and dwarves were represented. Something did catch her noticed though: most pairs—especially male/female pairings were walking around holding one another's hand. There didn't seem to be a purpose to it, but more than once, she saw that the act of one taking the other's hand seemed to make the recipient of the gesture's mood visibly brighten.

Her glance fell to Jaune's hand. He was going to the trouble of showing her around, buying her so much good food—she wanted to do something to return that kindness. Plus, it couldn't be a bad or troublesome thing like sharing a bed since people were doing it in public.

In her mind, her tail swished as if she were still a whelp and stalking prey. Her vision tunneled until his hand was all she could see. Taking an extra half-step to draw up even with him, she reached out and...

Missed, as said hand lifted to point across the lawn they were currently on. “Is that... it is! Hey Pyrrha, come on, there's someone I want you to meet!” He started off, leaving Pyrrha to recover from the near miss.

It didn't take much to catch up to him as he jogged up to a tall hob with green-tinged tan skin who was in the process of perusing a stall of blankets and other knit creations. “Ren!” He exclaimed, clapping the slightly taller hob on the shoulder.

When he turned around, the high concentration or human or perhaps elf blood in Ren's lineage was clear. His hair was silken rather than stiff, one strand dyed magenta, and his face was handsome even by human standards; only a pair of short, sharp tusks poking up past his lips and his skin tone telling the rest of his bloodline's story. He was also dressed better than the Shamblethorn hobs: in a finely made waistcoat and cream-colored pants.

“Ren, you made it!” Jaune exclaimed happily. “I figured the blizzard last week might have kept you from making the loop in this direction in time for the festival.” He looked around, eyes falling the waist height, “Where's Nora? She's okay right?”

The handsome hob took the gale of words in stride, as if he were used to such. Reaching out, he clasped hands with Jaune. “Good to see you too. You didn't have to worry about us not being here—Nora insisted we take the ferry to make sure.”

“That's a lot of money to ferry your wagon across.”

Ren huffed, but it was clearly in good humor. “That's what I said. As for where Nora is, she had the choice between doing a little trading with me... or helping your mother and Summer of Roses with their pastry-selling schemes—guess which she chose?”

That made Jaune snicker. “Well you can at least rest assured she'll eat up all their profits and keep them from usurping them as Croceata's favorite merchant.”

Pyrrha watched the exchange, her mind clicking along as she noted that once again one of Jaune's close friends was markedly not a demihuman. Was that by preference, quirk of fate or design, she wondered. If this kept up, she might start entertaining the hope that she wasn't the most intimidating creature he'd formed a connection with.

What that could possibly be eluded her. A demon? One of the Vishnari Saints? A small god? Maybe one of those storyspinners he'd spent his youth listening to was actually the God's Sword. Idly, she then noticed that where they'd happened to end up standing, her hand was very close to his. Maybe...

“And who is this lovely lady?” Ren asked, thought Pyrrha barely heard him over her own thoughts.

“Oh. Where are my manners?” Jaune's hand once more eluded hers as he brought it to the small of her back to nudge her ever so slightly forward. She did not squeak when he did so. And she would burn anyone who said differently to so many glimmering ashes. “This is Pyrrha. We've been traveling together the past couple weeks. Pyrrha, this is Ren. I've ridden practically round the whole valley with him and his wife on his merchant route.”

Ren scratched the side of his chin with thick, dark nails. “Technically not my wife yet. It won't be a year and a day for another three weeks. But it's a pleasure to meet you, Pyrrha.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Pyrrha replied, gathering herself anew. “How long have you known Jaune?”

This made Ren take a moment to calculate. “All my adult life, really. My apprenticeship came to an end right around the time my old master and I reached Croceatta. The Arcs sold me my first goods: Ornis eggs and auroch hides bound for Azuerrie. Jaune decided to come along as a representative of the family and the rest is history. You two have only been together a few weeks?”

“Less than two actually, but they've been among the most enjoyable of my life,” Pyrrha said with a bright smile. “I've learned so much about life on this side of the mountains.”

“Ah, then you're from the River Kingdoms,” Ren's eyes lit up with nostalgia. “I was born on the delta; in Olvidae.”

Pyrrha wanted to slap herself for not considering that she might actually run into someone from the River Kingdoms when fabricating her back story. After all, she knew from experience how many people crossed through the passes below her home to and from there. Pretending to be royalty was all well and good—how many people actually knew who their nobles were?--but she's made up an entire kingdom.

Still, there was nothing for it, seeing as Ren could easily end up talking to Ruby and Yang, so she didn't miss a beat in taking refuge in audacity. The River Kingdoms was a catchall term for the loose collection of domains on either bank of the Emaru River from the delta up to the jungle lands of Vini Tresoholm. Heroes and merchants made wealthy from the War had spent the last several decades trying to consolidate power in the remnants of the crumbled Vishnari Alliance territories. It would take an expert to know every tiny so-called kingdom there. “Oh, that's lovely. Have been been as far north as Nikosia?”

After a moment's attempt to recall, he shook his head. “I don't believe I have. Is that where you're from?”

“Pyrrha's actually a... minor noble there.” Jaune supplied.

“Very minor,” she added. “So minor that it's not even worth bringing up.” Inwardly, she laughed at how she'd reduced the significance of her phony princess-hood, which she imagined was the reverse of how a lie normally progressed.

Taking her cue, Jaune stepped in to change the subject. “So Ren; you said Nora's with my mom and Summer? We were headed over to the house—wanna come with? Ruby and Yang are supposed to meet up with us there. It'd be nice to have everyone together—it's been a long time since that's happened.”

Ren gave this due consideration before shaking his head. “I'll have to meet you there. As anxious as I am to see everyone, Nora wouldn't let me in the wagon tonight if I didn't at least try to barter something from her off one of the merchants here from Auvenshadar.”

At this, Jaune cracked a smile. “Actually, we did manage to salvage an oilskin full of Auvenshadar anti-magic during our travels.”

“We would have had more, but we used most of it to blow up a spirit beast... and the rest was too heavy to carry,” added Pyrrha.

“Blew up a spirit beast?” Ren's eyebrows disappeared up into his hairline. “Sounds like one of the stories Nora tells people happened to us.”

Jaune just shook his head. “We have a lot of stories. And you can heard them all over a pint of the Matte's famous mead. What do you say?”

“I say you've won me over,” Ren laughed. “Let's go.” With his longer gait, he ended up setting the pace, causing Jaune and Pyrrha to hang back a few steps.

“So,” Jaune asked his companion as they threaded their way through the crowd, “What do you think of your first taste of the festival?”

Pyrrha hummed thoughtfully and happily as she thought of how best to express her feelings. Then she noticed that Jaune's hand was free and there seemed to be no more distractions. Reaching out, she captured it in hers, eyes flitting his his to gauge his reaction.

Her heart started to sink as Jaune's face first showed surprise and nothing else. But then his expression softened to a content smile as his gaze drifted to their joined hands. It seemed she'd done it right after all. “I think it's just grand,” she said as they continued forward.

Both of them were so focused on each other and following Ren that they didn't notice a particular banner being unfurled on one of the lawns near the town's inner wall where heavy carts covered in tarps had been rolled into position for exhibition. The banner that flew over that assemblage was framed in black and on the red field was the coiling image of a dragon in silver—belly to the sky with three silver spears thrust through its back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should have been out this past weekend, but I got sick on top of everything else that's happened to be, so yeah...
> 
> I also feel like this chapter was nothing but a lot of exposition and a whole-plot reference, but it did set up some stuff I think will be fun like Mrs. Arc and Summer essentially doing a bake sale, JNPR + RY drinking and chatting, and of course our first encounter with some of Citraan's dragonslayers.
> 
> So yeah, that whole plot reference. As I said before, this story is inspired by Spice and Wolf and Pyrrha's attempts to hold Jaune's hand only to be stymied are a reference to my favorite scene from that show. My second favorite is Holo talking to her potatoes. We'll see if I can reference that too eventually.
> 
> If you've followed my Rune Breaker series or read the first chapter of my Chemical Soldier fic, you might recognize the River Kingdoms' situation as familiar. That's because NYSG is set in the Age of Tragedies, some 400 years before the Rune Breaker series and the River Kingdoms and the Valley eventually become part of Novrom—which continues to have a warring states situation into the modern age. Ren's home of Olvidae is what will become Rivenport, setting for the first half of Rune Breaker IV: Evil Unto Evil.
> 
> Croceatta marks the halfway point of this fic, but we'll probably spend some time doing single chapter vignettes for their time there. A lot can and will happen in this setting and it's a good opportunity to briefly meet a few more RWBY characters before we set off for the heist.


	21. Once They Conquored

Sometimes Jaune wished his mind didn't work the way it did. That he could be one of those people to just accept a complement, take things at face value and just enjoy the damn moment. That he could just shut off his brain once in a while.

But a lifetime of waiting for the other shoe to drop made him hyper-analytical of everything that seemed like a good turn his life might take. Sure sometimes the good times were just good times: his months learning with the Get of Shuck or his time riding with Ren on his merchant's route where eventually her met Nora. Even being at home in Croceatta hadn't been all bad: his family was never anything but loving and he'd even had a friend who didn't shun the 'useless' sickly child—if only because they were useless in another way.

As such, he couldn't deny it felt nice trotting along behind Ren hand-in-hand with Pyrrha, but that traitorous little voice in the back of his head was pointing out just how slim a chance there was that she knew the actual significance of the gesture. More than likely she was just doing what she saw other couples do and wasn't even thinking about the delineation between traveling companions and couples.

It was making it very difficult the overwhelming warmth coming from her hand over the long walk.

And it was a long walk. The Arc family home was near the Eastern Gate where the older, more established houses stood. The houses here actually had yards of their own, separated by low stone walls that had long since had generous gaps worn in them by time and neighbors being too lazy to walk around.

After a bit of winding through the village, they came to what depending on who one asked was either the forth or fifth oldest house in Croceatta. Originally made from mammoth logs, the Arc home had been patched and expanded with stone drawn from the earth with ere-a until none of the original wood could be seen past the various additions. It was one of the few two-story structures in the village and sported a sizable yard.

Said yard, in Jaune's memory at least, had always been home to a huge brick oven, one of Croceatta's only two smokers, and an ancient stone barbecue pit. It was now also home to what was normally a moderate-sized merchant's cart, which had been, by virtue of any number of clever, complex and mind-bending mechanisms had been unfolded into a miniature storefront twice its size, plus an awning stretched out the back to give shade to a large wooden folding table.

In the cart, facing a fair to middling-size queue, was a goblin woman. Her bristly hair was dyed a garish orange-red and she was wearing a purple-stained white smock over a bright pink blouse and blue canvas skirt. Her bat-wing ears twitched animatedly as she exchanged elongated buns of some sort for silver coins.

Beside her, actually doing the collection of the money and the making of change was a women with pale greenish skin and small but visible tusks that blended rather than clashed with her otherwise delicate features. A shock of black hair nearly fell in her eyes as she offered gentle smiles to every customer.

Jaune recognized them immediately as Nora Val Kairee and Summer of the Roses respectively.

Nora spotted them as she was just handing over another bun, ears perking up and eyes going wide. It was just enough warning to Summer that she reached over and caught the bun as Nora dropped it and pounced up onto the cart's counter.

“Renny! You're back!” the goblin crowed before bounding from the counter to the shoulder of a man waiting in line, to Ren. It said a great deal about goblin agility and spacial awareness in general and Nora's in particular that her clawed toes immediately found Ren's belt to clutch onto as her arms went around his shoulders. She was tall for a goblin, but still at least two heads shorter than her hob beau.

Used to this by now, Ren caught her almost without thought, nuzzling his face into her hair in greeting before replying, “Indeed. And I bought back something special.” He turned so they were both facing Jaune and Pyrrha.

Again, Nora's excitement was all body language a good second before she vocalized it. “Jauney! I told Ren you'd be in Croceatta this year!” She turn to Ren. “I was right! Money well spent to get the cart across the lake, I'd say. And you wouldn't believe how much money we're making with this year's idea!”

Jaune waved to Nora with his free hand, unable to keep himself from looking confused. “Hey Nora. Good to see you. Wait: you're saying my mother and Summer actually had a good idea this year?”

“I heard that!” came Summer's voice from behind the line of people waiting to buy whatever baked goods they were selling. “All of our ideas were good! They were just ahead of their time!”

“Last year, the big plan was to sell pre-written love poems for people to read to the one the bid on at the block,” Jaune muttered informatively to Pyrrha.

“That doesn't sound so...”

“They copied ones I wrote to Madlayne Austrue.”

“Well you are rather...”

“...when I was twelve.”

“Oh.”

“Twelve or not, you were and are still the most wordy person I know!” Summer defended.

It was around this time that Nora decided to get over her preoccupation with Ren and Jaune's return to notice that Jaune was with someone. Leaping off Ren, she came to land before Jaune and Pyrrha, highly reflective turquoise eyes focused on the pair's joined hands.

“Ooooh.” She said as if laying eyes on something to be reverent of. “Summer! Summer! You gotta see this! Jauney's got a girl! He's holding her hand and everything!”

Every eye on the line turned in their direction. There were snickers. And a few guffaws. And ogre slapped his belly and bent double trying to hold hers in.

Jaune wondered if it wasn't too late to go back and crawl into the naacka's stomach. Or the ogres. The stories said mountain ogres ate humans and elves. Maybe that hill ogre would like to see what her more primitive cousins made such a fuss over.

“He is?”

He knew his mother's voice, chorusing alongside his sisters Claire and Violetta's instantly.

Now he wasn't willing to bet on mastication and an acid bath in an ogre's stomach to kill him completely enough. He was actively wondering why the Vishnari didn't have a god of Death for just this sort of occasion and whether Denaii would be offended if he offered up a prayer to the Lurking Demise of the old kobold religion or the All-Consuming Maw of goblin tradition.

Well something arguably more dangerous than Denaii might take offense at that last one. Namely Nora. She didn't hold to or much like the goblin traditions—namely because she was one of its greatest blasphemies: an only child. Most goblins thought that the only driving force in the world was the Maw, and in order for the goblin race to survive it, they needed to breed in such numbers that the Maw could never consume them all. So needless to say Nora's sixty-six aunts and uncles thought it was a little odd for her parents to just have the one child albeit one with the boundless energy of seventy.

And he was now just trying to distract himself, Jaune realized. Looking in the direction of the voices, he spotted Claire first. One would think she was the runt of the Arc family given how small and thin she was. But rather than gaunt, she could better be described as willowy. Her hair was shoulder length, a shade or two darker than ash blonde and left largely unstyled. At the moment, she was carefully pulling a tray from the huge oven, looking terribly nervous that she was going to drop them. Then again, Claire was always nervous.

Violetta was farther out in the yard near a recently constructed fire pit, tending a huge bubbling cauldron of... something purple and a folding table laden with bowls and other ingredients and implements. Even in the midst of such common labor, Violetta dressed and carried herself like a highborn lady; a immaculate layered dress dyed a pale lilac color under her purple-smudged apron, her hair done up in an intricate system of yellow braids that made her two feet taller and full make-up even if it was just to stand out in the sun and stir a big pot.

She was the complete opposite of their mother, Muriel. She wore an old, faded blue linen skirt and a homespun shirt that had gone from white to beige with age. Her voluminous ash blonde hair was tied back with a blue ribbon at the bottom where it worried the backs of her thighs, and with a headband featuring two knobby horns at the top. The headband had been part Jaune's grandmother, the Blight Witch's regalia once upon a time, gifted to her son's new bride on their wedding day. It was magical, but Jaune had no idea what it did.

All thought of response fled his mind when he caught sight of who she was sharing the shaded table with.

It was a hailene. The woman was perched on a stool next to her, diligently pulling leaves and stems off of clumps of blackberries she was pulling from a bucket and dropping them into a work bowl where his mother was mixing them with other ingredients.

Now that he was paying attention, he spotted a second one, also a woman, leaning against the cart, arms folded and looking sour.

He couldn't help himself; he stopped cold, tightening his grip on Pyrrha's hand. He'd seen one or two of the winged tyrants during other festivals; always putting on airs and often getting into fights with the hobs whose mother race had been exterminated by them, or the occasional dwarf or elf who had lived long enough to have suffered first hand.

But the stories... not just legends and tales like the ones he'd been exchanging with Pyrrha on the road, but actual first hand accounts like the ones his grandmother had penned in the margins of her ritual book... They'd struck a chord of fear in him that the spirit beasts had difficulty surpassing.

Once they had conquered all the lands south of the great mountains and east to the point that the Valley had become the front lines of the War of Ascension. Their method was to spread despair and terror with brutally overwhelming shows of magical force from having their choirs call down tornadoes to scour resisting towns, to having their ships' cannons burn fields just before the harvest.

They took prisoners. Children, goblins and kobolds crammed into the narrow engineering compartments of ships and war machines and made to learn how to maintain them—or feed the fires that fueled them. Other captives were thrown into mines to bring up ore, or sent into the soaring forests of the Tresholm or even back to the jungles of the hailene home island of Illium to cut lumber to build more flying ships.

Their monstrous actions were what the Blight Witch used to justify her own... excesses. Reading through her fragmented accounts, he'd followed the story of a young woman who just wanted to keep the hailene away from their farmstead to a desperate and slightly unhinged archmage who delighted in describing using the power of healing vitae to make the normal tiny creatures that lived in every animal's gut consume choirs of hailene from the inside out. A far cry from the doddering old woman who in her waning years would dandle her sickly grandson on her knee and explain the basics of magic, but such was the dark miasma the hailene had poisoned the world with, it seemed.

And now there were two of them idly chatting with his mother while making blackberry jam.

Ren made a face that suggested he was sorry for forgetting to warn him, but did do Jaune the favor of taking Nora by the hand and leading her back to the cart. Left with no other recourse, Jaune made his way toward the table, where his mother had set down the bowl and was standing up.

“I knew you couldn't stay away from the Planter's Festival,” she said with a loving smile, “It always was your favorite.” Her eyes danced as they moved from him to Pyrrha. “Though now I think I see why you stayed away for so long. I trust you've been good to your new lady friend?”

Touching her sternum lightly, she then reached out and took Pyrrha's free hand in both of hers. “I'm Muriel Arc, Jaune's mother. I'm terribly pleased to meet you. I hope it's not too forward of me to ask how long you've been together? Jaune's been gone almost three months, after all.”

Pyrrha's eyes darted to Jaune. The whole winter? A lone human had voluntarily gone out into the Valley's already murderous environs in the worst season? Had he been tracking her that whole time? Oh Jaune...

But there were more pressing concerns than the past. For example, with Nora's reaction, taken with Muriel's, she was starting to realize the very specific reason why one demihuman taking another's hand made that particular recipient happy. And why Jaune had been so surprised when she took his.

Again, in the future when retelling this story, she would utterly deny that the sound she made was a squeak. Dragons don't squeak. And red dragons in particular do not blush, seeing as they are already naturally red.

Immediately letting go of Jaune's hand (and just as immediately feeling some measure of loss from no longer feeling his warmth), she returned the handclasp Muriel was offering. “Pyrrha Nikos, ma'am. I-I'm sorry Mrs. Arc, but I believe you've mistaken something here. Jaune and I are merely traveling companions. Though I do owe him a great deal for saving my life—several times now, in fact.”

Two by her count, given the ospreshrike and the naacka. Plus one for the fictional saving of her the 'human' from her the dragon.

She did not like the knowing smile Muriel donned. “Oh, of course dear. I understand. I've been there.” Releasing Pyrrha from her grasp, she stepped back and to the side, giving them access to the table and the hailene who was now standing beside it. “Come, have a seat. Oh, I suppose more introductions are in order. Jaune, Miss Nikos, this is Hospitaler Winter Schnee. Father Vhaeltressl took ill in the past few months and he'll be retiring at the close of the festival. Luckily for us, the Hessan temple saw fit to send us a new Priestess of the Light. We're quartering her until the Father leaves the shrine to her.”

Winter as over a foot taller than Jaune at her full height, as was the usual for a hailene. Unlike her brethren, however, she wasn't trying to stand as tall as possible, or extend her wingspan in an intimidation display. Instead, she was very purposefully slouching and bowed her head in greeting.

“I welcome you home, Jaune. I've heard much about you. And greeting to you as well, Miss Nikos.” She glanced aside at the other hailene, became visibly annoyed and gave a little sigh. “And I suppose I should introduce my sister. This is Templar Weiss Schnee of the Order of the Eye of Truth.”

If Jaune had been surprised by a hailene priestess of Hessa, his mind simply could not grasp one being a templar of his own patron, the Lawgiver Denaii.

At her sister's prompting, Weiss glanced their way and inclined her head. “Charmed,” she said, then went back to glaring at the ground some distance ahead of her.

Winter shook her head, both amused and at least a little shamed. “Forgive my sister. She was given a vision that said her task was to accompany me here, but has found no guidance as of yet as to what her next step should be. So she's opted to pout.”

“I am not pouting!” Weiss became animated for the first time since the traveling pair had arrived, pushing off the wall of the cart to stomp toward her sister. The mail shirt she wore of well made but simple white linens jingled quietly. “I have simply chosen not to become embroiled in the trivial goings on of this village lest I miss the Lawgiver's sign of my next sacred mission.”

Still shaking her head, Winter folded her arms into the sleeves of her voluminous white cotton robe. There was a sky blue sash around her waist and her only adornment was a silver chain laden with a golden sunburst pendant—the holy symbol of Hessa, Goddess of Light and Healing. “And what if Denaii wishes you to stay here and protect these people? Will you set yourself apart from them forever, waiting for a sign that never comes?”

For a moment, Weiss's mouth worked but no words came out as visions of that very thing flashed before her eyes to her horror. “It will never happen!” she all but screeched, “the Lawgiver has delivered onto me two sacred treasures worthy of great feats. While I don't devalue protecting home and hearth, using the Seekant Eye and the Orden Sentinel for such a thing is the equivalent of using a forest fire to cook a simple meal!”

“If that's how you feel about it,” Winter said with a soft sigh before returning her attention to Jaune and Pyrrha. “Please excuse us. You didn't travel months to come home to someone else's sibling spats. When you have your own family to attend to.”

Jaune scratched the back of his head awkwardly because while he'd been distracted by the hailene sisters, his own—not just Claire and Violetta, but the two youngest, Gris and Verte had closed in on them. Violetta in particular had managed to sidle up right beside him. Before he could say anything, she opened her own mouth.

“And it seems to me that he's going to need to brush up on his manners as well. Aren't you going to introduce us, little brother?”

Fighting the urge to glare at her, he coughed into his fist to cover. “W-well yes. But I'm sure you all have questions and I'd rather not tell the whole story of how we came to travel together a dozen times, alright? Where are father and the others?” He knew his eldest sister, Blanche wouldn't be home; she'd married a fisherman in Tellaya Marue, a few days east along the shore of the lake and would be attending their festivals most of the time. That left second eldest Marron and Claire's twin, Matte as well as the Arc patriarch.

“Father's off with some of the old men playing horseshoes near the wall,” Violetta recounted, “And the brute is probably pulling a plow to shame a cerato for being too slow.” 'The brute' was Violetta's derisive name for Matte, who had taken to physical labor with a zeal and competence that put pretty much everyone else in the village to shame. “And as for Marron,” there were stars in her eyes, as she said, “She left a few days ago for Tellaya Marue. There was an earthquake there a week ago and their wall split.”

Jaune started to nod at this. It made sense, as Marron was an accomplished ere-a mage and couldn't just stand by while Blanche's new hometown was left vulnerable. He was stopped by the 'cat who has somehow swallowed the entire species of canaries' look on Violetta's face.

“But...” she continued sweetly, “I would suppose she might extend her trip longer for that friend of Aerik's she met when we last visited Blanche.” Aerik was Blanche's husband. Jaune had met him only a few times in passing. Violetta dramatically feigned a swoon. “I was thinking she'd be the next to marry, but then our oddling little brother steps out of the wilderness with someone of his own. The only way fate could punish me further for allowing my high standards to keep me from accepting the hands of these common men would be is Claire or the brute suddenly had someone.”

“Just what is that supposed to mean?” Claire managed to speak up, but she was doing so while carefully keeping Jaune and Pyrrha between herself and Violetta.

Jaune just scrubbed his hand through his hair. “This is why I wanted to make introductions once everyone was together. Pyrrha? These are my sisters. The pushy one who talks like a nob is Violetta, the quiet one using you as a shield is Claire.” He reached down and tousled the scrubby brush of eight year-old Gris's ash blonde hair. All the children in the village had their hair cut short between seven and ten to it didn't interfere with their combat training. “This little lady is Gris, and her hanger-on is Verte.”

Little Verte had one hand firmly latched on to Gris's shirt while the thumb of the other was in her mouth. When she noticed attention had shifted to her, she pulled harder on Gris's shirt and tried to hide behind her.

Deciding to go all the way with things just to get it out of the way, Jaune plunged onward. “Girls, Mother, this is Pyrrha Nikos. She's a princess of one of the River Kingdoms.

The sound Violetta made started at painful to the human ear and then went up to a pitch only animals could hear. “That is not possible!” she accused, pointing at Jaune. “You are having us on for teasing you!”

Gris and Verte's reactions were just the opposite. “Really?” Gris asked, eyes sparkling. “You're a real live princess like in the stories? Are you magic? Do you have a djinn servant? Do you have an army?” After a moment of thought, she let go of Verte's hand to pound a fist into her palm. “Oh! I've got it! Jaune turned into a bandit king and kidnapped you! And a prince is going to ride into town and rescue you!”

“How is me turning bandit your best guess?” Jaune tried to look serious, but he couldn't help but laugh. Pyrrha couldn't either as she knelt down to Gris's level, reaching out to tousle her hair as Jaune had.

“You don't have to worry about that. In fact, the opposite is true.” She looked up at the surrounding Arcs plus Winter. “Perhaps I can tell you all the story?”

Muriel nodded. “Of course. Why don't you both set your bags down in the house and we can sit out here and talk.”

RWBYRWBYRWBY

A few minutes later, they were sitting at the table. Winter had gone to take over stirring the pot so Violetta could participate in the family discussion. Embarrassed to be in earshot, Weiss had also reluctantly volunteered herself for duty taking the buns out of the oven as they were done. Less concerned with being considered an eavesdropper, Summer had come out of the cart with a wooden folding chair and taken a seat next to Muriel.

Jaune had been pressed into service making what he now understood to be blackberry compote-filled sweet buns. The secret ingredient was a strange, curled bark Summer had brought with her from her travels to the south called cassia. As he set about grinding the stuff in a mortar, he had to admit that the sweet, spicy scent was very appetizing and he could understand why his and Ruby's mothers' venture was finally seeing profit.

Pyrrha too had been armed with an icing bag full of glaze and set to work as she told their story—both the fabricated beginning and the factual remainder. To Jaune's horror, she also included how they'd slept together for warmth the night of the blizzard, but at least she emphasized that it was for survival.

“...so as you see,” she'd concluded with their meeting with Ruby and Yang, “We haven't been traveling together long, but we've been through a lot together. And I still haven't been able to repay Jaune for saving my life.”

The Arc women all started talking at once, expressing either sympathy of disbelief or how impressed they were. Gris wanted to know more about the dragon and whether or not Jaune had taken any of its treasure. Violetta had ignored all other parts of the tale to know more about the court politics of Nikosia. Muriel was mostly concerned about whether the two had any lasting injuries. Claire stayed quiet and focused on keeping a fussy Verte from grabbing and eating handfuls of ingredients off the table.

All the while, Summer stayed quiet which was what made Jaune instantly stop worrying. With one big exception, the Get of Shuck as a family whose members couldn't stop talking to save their lives unless they were cooking up some sort of prank or scheme. After spending so much time as an honorary member of that family, Jaune knew that one of them being quiet did not usually bode well for him.

But then it hit him: Yang had recognized Pyrrha was not human immediately by smell alone. It stood to reason that an older, more experienced werewolf would have noticed as soon if not sooner. And yet she'd just sat there nodding along with what she had to know was at least partially a lie.

Just like Yang had.

Jaune squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Their stay at Croceatta was going to be a very long one indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a big introduction to more RWBY characters. I decided to dedicate at least a little of Croceatta to some fan service, as I know a lot of people wanted to see RWBY characters Ere-ified. Most of them will just be in this arc because I'd have nothing for them to do in the back half, so enjoy while you can.
> 
> A few notes on who is what and why:
> 
> Nora's a goblin because even over in my published Ere books, I haven't had a chance to really explore goblins and figured Nora would be a good character to introduce them with because her canon character is a lot like Ere goblins. If humans are special because they're shorter lived and thus more adaptable, then goblins are humans turned up to eleven. They're quick to learn given half an opportunity, but didn't normally get that chance being a 'savage' race until the hailene stupidly taught them engineering. Not a lot of people really notice this, but Magnhild is one of the most complex weapons in RWBY and Nora clearly packs her own powder for her grenades (hence the heart-splosion), and Ren doesn't display any technical aptitude, meaning Nora is probably an engineer and weaponsmith on par with Ruby.
> 
> Hence here, Nora is a goblin who is the supply side of Ren's merchant business as a tinkerer and the reason the cart is so complex (speaking of which, the foldout everything style of merchant cart was a real thing, which is awesome).
> 
> Weiss and Winter. If you've followed Game On and my sample teaser for Dragonwrought Chronicles on my site, you'll know that when I translate Schnees or Schnee-derived characters into Ere, I make them hailene. That's because the hailene are the most haughty, self important people in the setting and also the ones most likely to have the kind of character development that pairs well with Weiss's character. I've softened Winter a bit here though I'll be the first to admit I'm not entirely certain the canon character works well this way. I think Winter is still vague enough that this can still be a reasonable interpretation.
> 
> Summer. Okay, so Summer raised Yang after Raven left, who in turn basically raised Ruby. Now granted, a lot of their mannerisms clearly come from Taiyang and at least the STRQ picture makes Summer look all aloof, but I like to think there's a reason Taiyang and Summer clicked and that might be because they've got similar senses of humor. So Ere!Summer is less the sainted missing mom and more like the kind of woman whose loving care would produce Yang. I have plans to have some fun and some feels with her. Still contemplating what to do with Raven. Might put her in Citraan's household, since there's no Salem in this and the only member of Salem's villains team that's worth a damn is Cinder.
> 
> Oh yeah, and Torchwick will be in this. Not in Croceatta, not with Citraan, but he'll be around because he is awesome.
> 
> As for the Arcs, yeah Gris and Verte are little kids. Of you're reading Arc Reaction, remember that's ten years in the future and here the characters are canon ages, which means the OC family members will be scaled appropriately. And we introduce Violetta here. I've been trying to keep only five sisters active in each fic to limit keeping track of them. I regularly juggle ten to fifteen characters in my original fics by splitting teams, and Jaune coming with a family of TEN on his own is just a bit much even for me.
> 
> No one noticed over in Arc Reaction, but Jaune's mom is dressed like Star Butterfly from Star vs the Forces of Evil.
> 
> I also just want to point out that they never stopped holding hands until the scene break. There were a couple of moments where I was going to have one or the other let go, but decided, 'nope, they're gonna keep holding them'.
> 
> One last note: at long last my Indie Go Go for the World of Ere roleplaying game (as featured as the game they're playing in Game On) is live and you can secure your copy of the Alpha Playtest version of core game by going to www DOT indiegogo DOT com SLASH projects SLASH world-of-ere-rpg-fantasy SLASH x SLASH 16253717#/. I am almost ready for playtesting, with the monsters, DMG bits, a couple of dozen magic items, and of course the sample adventure to go. If all goes well, donors will be getting their Alpha versions in early July.


	22. The Dragonslayer of Croceatta

Muriel Arc and Summer of the Roses's pastry cart (really Ren and Nora's merchant cart) did brisk business on into the afternoon, aided in no small part by virtue of press-ganging family and friends (including Ruby and Yang when they arrived) as well as a pair of hailene holy women and one bemused dragon into helping keep the sweet treats coming.

As the sun began to set and the workers began to return from the fields, the festival really began to come to life. Mage-lights of every color imaginable were conjured into being, some directed to dance and blink to music as various entertainers began to play. Food and drank started to flow freely as all Croceatta celebrated making it through another winter alongside its neighbors and visitors.

“Alright, folks!” Summer clapped her hands loudly. She was back at the cart's counter handling the money with Ruby next to her passing out the pastries. “This is the last we're gonna make today because some of us have ale and dancing to get to! So everyone who wants one, now's your last chance!”

That started a press, as word of mouth had spread about the exotic yet homey flavor the cart next to the Arc home was delivering. Soon Summer was taking bids on the last tray, garnering offers of up to three silver pieces each.

Soon enough, she was standing on the cart's counter, holding the final pastry aloft. “This is it for today, people.”

“Two silver!” A hob woman with white hair that was shaved on one side shouted.

“Two and...” there was a jingle of metal on metal, “six copper.” a big, bearded man offered.

“A silver and two chickens!” that was one of the locals, used to barter more than currency.

Summer reveled a moment longer in the rush of bids before shaking her head with a mischievous grin. “Now, now: I never said this was up for bid.” Stepping back off the counter and into the cart, she threw an arm around Ruby's shoulders. “This one is for my darling youngest, Ruby for being such a big help here today.”

The young werewolf's eyes practically sparkled as she received her treat. Never mind she'd eaten at least a half dozen by that point; Ruby's sweet tooth knew no limits. “Thanks, m—”

She was cut off as Summer, still in busker mode continued talking. “But if we've got chickens on offer... Fellows please keep in mind that this lovely young lady might be going up on the block for the first time tomorrow. And she knows the recipe,” she sing-songed the last part.

Ruby went stark red and tried to hide behind Summer only to find herself held in place by a grip like iron. “Moooom!” she whined.

“Aww, isn't she cute.” Summer pinched her cheek before letting her go. No sooner did she do so than Ruby exploded out of the cart in a burst of wind, tripping over the lip of the door and rolling wildly across the Arc yard. Forgetting she was in human form, she managed to get up on all fours and scrambled over to where her sister was sitting with Jaune, Pyrrha, Ren and Nora in a circle under a shade tree.

“Yaaang! Mom's being mean to me!” she complained, plopping down between Jaune and Yang, frantically tugging at the latter's sleeve.

She didn't notice the malicious grin on her sister's face before a knuckle came down and scrubbed across her scalp in an affectionate noogie. “So you want me to be mean to you instead? You've got a point, Rubes: never accept the lesser alternative.”

As Ruby struggled to escape her, a new shadow fell over the group. Everyone looked up to find Muriel Arc standing over them wearing a brilliant smile. “You all did a great job today. Now it's time for that ale and dancing Summer mentioned. Luckily, we made a good amount of coin today, so here's something to help you see to that.”

One after the other, she tossed small bags made of scrap cloth to each of them. They could tell from the clink that they contained coins. Closer examination revealed that they'd each earned five silver and a double handful of coppers that probably amounted to two more silver's worth.

“Not a lot when it's split among so many, but I'm sure you can have a little fun with it.” Muriel said. Then she moved to stand behind Jaune. He felt his spine stiffen in dread.

His mother had been complacent to let his sisters and Summer lead the charge when it came to asking questions when he and Pyrrha explained how they'd met and about their travels... But she'd been smiling the entire time. That kind of smile that told him that her mind was working on something she found delightful—which he probably wouldn't.

She knelt down so that she was leaning into the space between Jaune and Pyrrha. “Well, Ruby doesn't seem very excited, but are either of you thinking of going up on the block this Festival?”

Letting out a groan, Jaune pulled his knees up to his chest and bounced his forehead against them. “Please no.”

Muriel patted him on the back. “I know you haven't had the best of times up there Jaune, but you can't just give up because things didn't go your way before. Besides, you've really filled out this year: look at these shoulders and that chin. You are the handsomest man in Croceatta.”

“Please stop.” Jaune muttered into his knees. “You said this last year.”

“And it's even more true this time,” Muriel continued. “Aaand... I can prove it.” The pressure from where she'd been leaning on his shoulders disappeared as she switched her attentions to Pyrrha. “You would make an offer to spend the day with Jaune tomorrow, wouldn't you dear?”

Pyrrha opened her mouth to answer, but Nora beat her to the punch. “Ooo! And since you're a princess you could offer a lot.” The little goblin hopped up from her place next to Ren and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Jaune! You could get a horse. Or jewels.” Her eyes widened. “Or a gold coin! No one's ever gotten a gold coin on the block before!”

“That's because no one here deals in gold,” Yang said, rolling her eyes while leaning back against the trunk of the tree. “But people have made more. Remember a couple of years back when Aminsthe bid a cerato on Lyria?” She shot a cheeky grin at Pyrrha. “Care to try and beat that record?”

Once again, Pyrrha tried to say something, but this time it was Jaune that interrupted her. “She's not going to break any records or bid anything on me guys. Please just accept that Pyrrha and I are just traveling companions, okay?” With a grunt, he got to his feet and dusted his pants off. “No one's going to bid anything on me. Even if I was going on the block—which I'm not.”

He inclined his head to his mother. “I understand what you're trying to do here and I love you for it but... I'd really rather just enjoy the festival without marring it with another huge disappointment like every other year.” Ignoring the sad look Muriel gave him at that, he looked down at Pyrrha and offered a hand. “Want to got check out the Festival now that it's in full swing?”

Pyrrha considered his hand for a moment. It was starting to bother her; his pathological insistence that they were 'just' traveling companions. That just didn't sit well with what they'd been through together. Maybe she didn't fully understand the nuances of the phrase, but they'd spent so much time together, gone through so much... how could they be 'just' anything? The idea that he felt that way hurt and she wasn't entirely sure why.

She decided to leave those questions for later. Instead she took his hand, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth before letting him pull her to her feet. “I would enjoy that, yes.” It was impossible to meet his eye until she noticed that he didn't let go once she was up. Tentatively, she gave his hand a squeeze, feeling a bit of an internal flutter when he squeezed back.

“Great,” he said, giving her a tired smile, “Let's go.”

Hand in hand, they headed off.

Muriel watched them go with a raised eyebrow until a hand landed on her shoulder. Turning, she found Yang offering her a sly grin. “I know, right?” The blonde werewolf asked. “But don't worry, Mrs Arc: I've already got wheels turning. Just let them spend some time with us celebrating tonight and I guarantee he'll get on that block tomorrow.”

A chuckle escaped the Arc matriarch. “You really are your mother's daughter, aren't you? I'll leave it to you then.” She flourished with a roll of her wrist. “I'll just be off collecting Qrow, Taiyang, and my husband before they lose as much money betting on horseshoes as we made today.”

Yang turned to the rest of her friends, exclaiming “You heard the lady. Let's go have some fun!”

RWBYRWBYRWBY

Jaune led Pyrrha a few cross streets away from his family home before finally checking his pace. If she'd been a human, Pyrrha would have felt he'd led her a bit roughly and evidently he thought the same, given the shamefaced expression her sent her.

At after a second of silence, he squeezed her hand one last time and let go before puffing out a long breath. “Sorry about that. It's just that my mother... arg! She's still got it in her head that some day I'll find a wife even though in reality... well that's not going to happen.”

While he wasn't looking, a perplexed scowl crossed Pyrrha's countenance “The longer I spend time with you, the more difficult it is to understand this 'block'. So you aren't a swordmaster—you managed to best an ospreshrike and a spirit beast with minor magic and a sharp wit. Not to mention, you're simply wonderful to spend time with—do these women not put value in those things?”

Jaune gave a half shrug. “They just put more value into whether I can give them strong children and protect home and hearth. Personality can't overcome those shortcomings.”

“They should.” Pyrrha had a sour look on her face as she fell into step beside him. “Were I to be choosing a mate, whether or not they make me happy would be paramount—second to nothing else.” She made a noncommittal noise, then added resolutely, “I the time we've had together is any proof of what you offer, then any of these women should be lucky to have you.”

A small sardonic laugh left Jaune's lips. “Too bad I'm a few tons underweight to meet your fancy then.”

Another little noise, this one he couldn't place. “Not necessarily. I can appreciate other beings besides dragons well enough—I suppose it comes with being able to change one's shape at will. That can't be all that unusual either—dragonsired proof that a dragon and a human are... compatible provided the dragon is in the right shape. Or the human I suppose given the right magic...”

The part of her that was more whimsical than the rest mused for a moment on what Jaune would look like as a dragon, but after a moment's fancy she decided she liked him better the way he was. There was something essentially Jaune that wouldn't carry over.

Jaune cleared his throat nervously. “I guess that's true. But aren't dragonsired usually more of a way to forge a bond between a dragon and one of the dragon cult tribes in the desert?”

“I wouldn't know.” Pyrrha replied, deflating a bit. She idly looked about them, feeling more than a little self conscious over having brought the matter up. “In any event, perhaps you needn't worry so much. Have you noticed how some of the women we've passed have been looking at you?”

“No...” He cast about as well. Indeed, there were a good many gazes turning toward them—or more specifically toward him. Mostly they were women around his age in pairs or larger groups. When they caught him looking, they'd glance away, often giggling and even more often whispering among themselves before making haste away. There were men also, but their expressions were more of pride, offering him nods of respect as they passed while also casting a few looks at Pyrrha that got his back up a little.

“...That's new,” he admitted. He knew most of those folks. The women usually pretended they didn't see them and the men usually only noticed him to give his father their condolences for having Jaune as his only son. These odd looks, both measuring and admiring were something he'd never experienced before—especially not in such numbers.

After they walked a bit further, one pair of women who were caught staring proved to be more bold. The taller of the two; a tall, lean young lady with raven hair and bright blue eyes he knew as Talina Longfellow daughter of one of the farmers, approached with a fawning smile on her face.

“Why Jaune Arc. We have been hearing quite the wild tales surrounding where you've been over the winter.” Her eyes drifted to Pyrrha. “And there seems to be some truth to them. At least a bit.”

Her companion, a shorted, but more voluptuous women a year or two her senior with honey-colored hair done up in a large bun that resembled a bee hive, stepped forward as well, offering a hand to Pyrrha. “Forgive her, she's excitable at the idea of finer folk visiting our fair Croceatta. My name is Celdaine nir Pender, a tailor by trade and this is Talina Longfellow.”

“Pyrrha Nikos,” said Pyrrha, taking the proffered hand. “A pleasure to meet you both.”

“So is it true?” asked Talina without a hint of subtlety.

She was looking at Jaune, so he felt obliged to reply. “Is... what true?” Suddenly he had a very bad feeling, especially when Celdaine called Pyrrha 'finer folk'.

“Oh, all of it of course,” said Talina. “They're saying that you bested a dragon in a game of wits and saved an actual Princess of the River Kingdoms. An impressive feat for anyone to be sure.” She didn't give him a chance to say anything before continuing, “It's all anyone from town is talking about tonight. That and whether or not you'll be going onto the block this Festival. A man who's faced a dragon will fetch quite the offering I dare say.”

At that, she winked at him and gave him her brightest smile. “I myself have a pair of prize laying hens and two dozen fresh eggs I'm considering for that purpose.”

Jaune's face colored and he stammered senselessly. “R-really? No one's ever... ever made an offer on me before. Let alone for so much.”

“Well you weren't the Dragonslayer of Croceatta before now were you, silly boy.” She nudged him playfully on the shoulder.

“I-I didn't slay—”

Now Celdaine rejoined the conversation. “Oh it's just the nickname they've taken to calling you. There's no one else that's come closer, wouldn't you say? I wouldn't discourage it were I you. It's raised your profile quite a bit. Talina isn't the only one interested now, you know? I weren't married...”

Talina interrupted her friend with a serious expression, inclining her head to Pyrrha. “That is unless the Princess has already laid her claim that is. We would never stand in the way of one of the finer folk.”

Now it was Pyrrha's turn to sputter in the face of innuendo. “Laid my? Oh! No, um... no I haven't done that. Jaune saved my life—more than once even. He's under no obligation to me; I owe a life's debt to him twice over.”

Celdaine smiled a pretty smile and clapped her hands. “Oh that's marvelous. Twice over over you say?”

“More than that, actually,” Pyrrha said matter of factly. “But as I said, Jaune is free to do as he pleases. You'll... you'll get no quarrel from me.”

Something in her town made the two local women exchange looks. “If that's what you say, Princess,” said Celdaine, “We'll take our leave now—leave you two to enjoy the Festival in peace.” She sent another smile Jaune's way. “And I cannot wait to see what offering a Dragonslayer fetches on the block.”

The pair of locals then said their goodbyes and were on their way, leaving a bewildered Jaune and a flustered Pyrrha.

“I had nothing to do with that,” Jaune said at last.

“How could you have? We've been together this entire time.” Given the circumstances, Pyrrha suddenly saw that expression in a new light and quickly amended, “Not 'together' in that sense of course.”

“Of course.” Jaune said quickly.

“Right,” Pyrrha affirmed unnecessarily.

Jaune frowned. “But we haven't exactly been spreading our story around. Who could—” Before he could finish, Yang seemed to materialize beside him on the other side of Pyrrha.

“You're welcome, pork pie!” the other blonde exclaimed, throwing an arm around her friend. When he squawked, she took that as a demand for an explanation. “I was getting sick of you being all mopey about women. And since you insist there's nothing between you two,” here she paused for dramatic effect, “Your big sis from another Miss decided to put her thumb on the scales on your behalf. After all, what girl could resist a man who faced down a dragon for her, right?”

Pyrrha narrowed her eyes at the werewolf as the rest of Jaune's friends came strolling up. “You're the one who started spreading that rumor?”

“Well of course. “Yang rolled her eyes. “How else were people going to hear about the Dragonslayer of Croceatta.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jaune groaned. “Please don't tell me you came up with the name too.” He got a smug grin in reply. “I didn't slay any dragons, Yang. She's still alive and if she hears about it, I don't think she'd be very happy with me.” It took considerable effort not to look in Pyrrha's direction.

“What's going on now?” Ruby asked, scampering around the three to face them. “Who's slaying dragons?”

“No one is slaying dragons,” Jaune said firmly. “Yang is just mucking about where she shouldn't.”

“What else is new?” That was Ren, trotting up with Nora clinging to his back.

Yang stuck out her tongue at the lot of them. “I don't see the lot of you lifting a finger to help Jaune.”

“Probably because he hasn't asked for help,” said Ren.

“Jaune needs help?” Nora scrambled down from Ren's back and ambled over to Jaune, craning her head to look up at him. “What'daya need help with, Jaune? Someone tryin' to hurt you? I've got a fence poster in the cart? It's got a spring that drives the spike in hard enough to go through wood. I can smash their knees and break their legs with it for you!”

Even being used to Nora's savagery when it came to protecting her friends, Jaune still blanched. “T-that won't be necessary, Nora.”

The goblin's ears drooped to her shoulders. “Aw, really? Because I kinda wanted to see if it really can break kneecaps in one shot.” When Jaune shook his head again, she seemed to swiftly shake off her funk. “Okay then. You don't look hurt, so the solution to whatever your problem is is having fun!” She grabbed his hand and with strength belying her size, started dragging him off. “Com'on, Jaune-y! They've got a shadow theater over by the Windmoor place. They've been doing the Prince and the Bell! Let's go and see if we can get good seats on the lawn for the next show!”

Ren and Ruby followed along with Pyrrha and Yang hanging back. The blonde werewolf nudged the dragoness with her shoulder. “Something the matter, Princess? You've been mighty quiet.”

Pyrrha shrugged. “I was just... lost in thought.”

“About a certain Dragonslayer?”

“You shouldn't have done that. Like Jaune said: what if word gets back to the dragon?”

With a chuckle, Yang, threw her arm around Pyrrha's shoulder. “Oh come now. I'm a werewolf, Princess. Comes with a good nose. You and I both know word's already gotten back to her.” She winked and Pyrrha goggled. “Yep. Since we met. No worried though: you're good people even if you're not... ya'know, technically 'people'. I could tell that since we met too, just from how fond of you Jaune is. The guy just doesn't fall in with bad sorts and her certainly doesn't fall for them.”

Pyrrha's shock melted into bitterness. “You can stop that, please. As he says: there isn't anything between us. We're... we're just traveling companions. Nothing more.”

That got her a snort from Yang. “He says that, sure. But what do you say?”

Quickening her step in an effort to rejoin the group and hopefully end this line of discussion, Pyrrha studied the grass under her tread rather than look to the other woman. “I say that I am what I am and that's the end of it, Yang. It's foolish to consider otherwise.”

This time when she tried to escape, a strong hand wrapped around her bicep. Yang held her fast and dug in her heels, holding them both back. As expected, she was stronger than any human or even orc had any right to be by dent of the power of Sylph in her blood and bone and sinew. But even the boon of a goddess paled next to that of a dragon and Pyrrha could tell she could break every bone in the hand holding her with little effort if she so chose.

She choose not to, especially after glancing into those lavender eyes and seeing the impish mischief that was usually in them replaced by steely seriousness.

“This is where we might have a problem Princess. I don't give the coldest damn in the heart of a glacier of damns what you are; if you sell my friend short like that you and my fists are gonna have words. You think Jaune looks at me and Ruby and sees wolves? Or Nora and sees just a goblin? He doesn't work like that. I might have doubted him a bit, but it was damn stupid of me then and damn stupid of you now.

“He's got special eyes as Summer would say. They see right into the core of a person, barely touching the outside. Whatever the guy's faults, I can promise you he sees you for you. Not what you are, but who you are. And sometimes it's pretty nice for those of us who aren't exactly like most people in the wide world.”

Heartened but not convinced, Pyrrha shrugged off Yang's arm with an ease that made the werewolf gape and started forward again, this time at a pace that invited the other to walk alongside her. “If that's the case, then why haven't you laid your own claim.”

Yang snickered and shoved her hands in her pockets, following her a half stride behind her. “Aside from the fact that he's kind of like a brother to me? Mostly because he'd be dead in a week keeping up with me. Literally dead. I fight bears bare-knuckled for fun; Jaune couldn't fight a house cat unarmed without a goodly stock of healing salves on hand.”

When Pyrrha started to protest, Yang held up a hand. “Not doubting him, but I'm going to guess everything you survived in the wilds wasn't won through force of arms.” She nodded as Pyrrha's expression changed. “Same as he was when he traveled with us: being tricky and using his weird spells. I don't think his sword ever got bloody the whole time.”

Pyrrha could only nod in agreement, unsure of whether Jaune wanted to discuss the revelations Master Logaire had given him in Sol Soddatta with his friends and family. After a moment of silence, Yang slapped her on the back.

“Anyway, let's got get drunk and watch a shadow play. You can get drunk, right?”

“In light of recent events, I'm positive I can yes.” As they moved to catch up to the others though, a thought occurred to Pyrrha. “Yang?”

“Hmm?”

“How exactly does the block work?”

A sly smile appeared on the blonde's face. “All you have to know is you can bid anything you want on whoever you like best. First round's tomorrow morning. Basically, whatever the person being bid on thinks is the best offer wins and you get to spend the day at the Festival with them. As Summer tells it, it used to be serious business; as good as a marriage proposal. Supposedly that's how our dad proposed to my mom.”

“Summer's not...” It occurred to Pyrrha that Summer was always referred to as 'Ruby's mother' and that only Ruby had inherited the sobriquet 'of the Roses'.

Yang shook her head. “Nope, my mom... she's left when I was little. We've run into her a few times around the valley. She's a mercenary.” Thrusting her hands into her pockets, she quickened her step. “But anyway, the block's not really like that anymore. It's just a way for sweethearts to make a big, showy gesture or secret admirers to make themselves less secret. All in good fun, really.”

“Hmm.” Pyrrha hummed thoughtfully just before Ruby ran up to them. “What's the hold up you guys? Everyone's waiting!”

Ruffling her little sister's hair, Yang chuckled. “Just a little girl talk with the Princess. We're coming.”

Nodding, Ruby led the way at a jog, forcing the other two to pick up the pace. The old pair locked eyes as they followed, Yang giving a wink. “Hey, just trust me: I know what I'm doing.”

Somehow, Pyrrha found herself believing her. She just wished she knew what she herself was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turning point chapter!
> 
> I don't like explaining what I'm getting at, but I'm not entirely sure how well I'm portraying the turn her, but the intent is that Pyrrha essentially just talked herself into realizing how much she likes Jaune, not that she's confessing with that conversation. She's just coming to that realization when the two local women show up and hammer home the possibility that some woman really might snatch him up and Yang delivers the finishing blow.
> 
> So Pyrrha's on board now. Now it's a question of Jaune. We do know there's an attraction there, but as usual his crippling lack of self worth is in the way. And... I've dragged this on long enough. Give me two or three chapters tops because while I love slow burns, I hate will they/won't they and unlike a lot of hack writers, I find writing couples (or at least non-romantic duos) more interesting than singles. One thing I will say; this story might be going to an M rating. The more I think of it, the less I think I can do this concept justice without it because Pyrrha is a goddamn dragon. They don't have a society as such, they don't have the same cultural mores as humanoids would come up with and I can't see her cementing the relationship without consummating it. And while I could fade to black like I did with Arc Reaction, I feel that would rob the dragon AU part of this of something. It's not going to be super graphic, but it's going to be there. So I will mark the M parts when they show up.
> 
> That aside, we get a little better explanation of the block. I m fascinated at the evolution of customs and holidays, so I like putting those into Ere. Even just sixty years out from the War, the culture is loosening up and what used to be a flat out dowry ceremony is now... well Valentine's Day. In earlier concepts it was even more overtly the Japanese Valentines Day because Nora was trying to alchemy up candy for Ren. Protip: do not eat, touch, look at, or learn the full concept of goblin candy.
> 
> Speaking of, Nora is without Manghild here, but she had a series of inventions that will fit the bill just nicely, thank you.
> 
> And for those wondering, we now have confirmation that Raven's bopping around the valley. We will meet her eventually, but for now we haven't even met Qrow.
> 
> Next Chapter: The first day of the festival ends with the promised drunkenness and the gang learning that Jaune isn't the only Dragonslayer in town. Or the only Croceattan with a connection to the Well of Souls. But this girl is no bard. If you've read my novel series Rune Breaker, you know what's coming!


	23. The Seven Cups

“Ne'r spilt a drop on the old tavern floor/when I drain m' tankard, the girls bring me more. Oh, I've got my better angels but demons as well/ne'r found a heaven, but I've found all seven hells. Got a pocket of copper, but I wanna pay 'em gold/Want ask the em to step w'me, but n'er been that bold.”

After taking in the shadow play, a routine by some dancers from far south of the Valley, and filling up on an assortment of foods both exotic and local, the group retired to Croceatta's only alehouse, the Seven Cups for drinks and revelry.

Jaune was playing the pan pipes Pyrrha had bought for him on the road, accompanied by Ren playing a half flute he could play with one hand. Yang and Nora were still at the table, banging their heavy, lidded mugs on the table to provide percussion for the song in between drinks. Meanwhile, Ruby and Jaune's sister, Matte, who had joined them along with a keg of mead she'd brewed herself, had dragged Pyrrha out into the open part of the common room and were teaching her a traditional Croceatta stomp.

Unlike before when Master Logaire used bardic magic to put the steps directly in her head, she was having to actually learn. She was still awkwardly following along two or three steps behind, but between her low alcohol tolerance and the encouragement of the other two women, she was having too much fun to care.

Matte was almost a half head taller than Jaune and in terms of muscle made two of her younger brother. Her dirty blonde hair was done in many small braids that hung down to her waist, and she wore a faded blue tunic with the sleeve cut out to show her impressive arms and a simple canvas wrap skirt with work boots that made the floor groan whenever she stomped in the dance.

“So sing all m' children, raise your voice w'me! Sing out yer troubles, and sing out your glee! For your life, it matters, the downs and the ups/to those sweet carin' girls at the old Seven Cups!” The song concluded with a resounding noise as the dancers stomped at the same moment as the two drinkers slammed their mugs on the table.

Everyone, even normally reserved Ren, laughed as they all reconvened at their table.

Nora, who had been sitting on the table, stood up on it to greet her returning friends. “That was great! We've been down south for months and they're so boring. They don't even have alehouses, they have tea houses and they get really mad if you try and dance in there.”

“Also when you slam their porcelain on the table and break it,” Ren muttered into his mug before taking a sip.

“Yeah!” Nora said, nodding animatedly, “If you don't want your stuff broken, don't put it in a public drinking house, am I right?”

Yang guffawed at this and threw back another slug of mead. “At least you could break things. Over in the Tresholm, the elves grow everything out of wood that's not metal or stone. Nothing breaks! Can you imagine a bar fight where you can't make a good, sharp edge at a moment's notice?”

“Yeah, but that just means they use magic in their bar fights!” Ruby added excitedly. “This one guy was super drunk and trying to pick a fight and the bartender just raised her hand, picked him up by the hobnails in his boots, and tossed him out. It was great!”

“Speaking of great,” Yang said after the laughter had died down from that, “Our guys here had some good sound going. Maybe you two should go out and try to play for money during the festival.”

Matte, who was sitting on one side of Jaune with Pyrrha on the other, ruffled her brother's hair. “For true, you've really kept in practice with the pipes haven't you?”

Jaune didn't answer immediately. In actuality, he hadn't. Playing music out in the wilds attracted nasty things with teeth and claws or swords and bows. It was just that the moment he picked up the pipes, he felt... familiarity with them. All his time playing pan pipes when he was younger came back to him; every song every session along with clear knowledge of what he'd done wrong. It made playing again as easy as if he'd never stopped.

“Thanks,” he said dumbly, then deflected that attention that was falling on him. “You were pretty good out there on the floor. Looks like you were doing a good job teaching Pyrrha.”

Matte nodded sagely and then stood to offer refills to everyone around the table. As she did so, she nodded in the dragoness's direction. “The princess here's got good rhythm. She's just go to get those stiff old dances out of her bones so she can properly let loose. A few more cups of brew ought to help too.”

Pyrrha blushed a bit at the praise, but waved off the offer of more drink. “A few more and I'll be on the floor face first.”

“Looks like that's another thing we need to teach her!” Nora said, clapping, “How to hold your drink!” She hefted her refilled mug. It was sized for humans, so it looked comically large in the little goblin's hand. “Step one: drink more!” With that, she began to chug.

In the middle of Nora draining her next round of mead, the door tot he Seven cups opened. Most of the clamor in the alehouse died down in fits and starts as each table started to notice who had entered.

The first thing anyone saw was the crest of Lord Citraan worn on the chests of the newcomers. It wasn't often that Croceatta saw the Lord's Men, but these had been in town for a few days and were already earning a reputation.

Only three of the company of just over a dozen entered, but they made themselves stand out by wearing full battle gear under their rust red coats, each of which was emblazoned with a crest depicting a dragon spitted upon three crossed spears.

The leader wore a suit of plate with the soaring eagle emblem of a War-era company stamped on it in gold foil. His hair was nearly the color of his coat and from his hip hung a massive flanged mace. After taking a moment to clank into the middle of the common room where people would normally be dancing, he called out his challenge: “I've heard the 'Dragonslayer' of Croceatta drinks here.” Mockery dripped from every syllable of the title when he said it. “Where is Jaune Arc?”

Matte rose instantly, making a show of tossing her braids and cracking her neck. “Who wants to know.”

“His Lord Citraan,” replied the stranger with a glare.

“Funny,” Matte rubbed her chin and seemed to consider him from different angles. “I always thought you'd be more distinguished looking my lord.” She sketched a mocking bow that made the lord's man grind his teeth.

“I am Cardin Winchester, Lieutenant of the Second Expeditionary Force.” He slammed a fist against the dragon crest on his shoulder. “The Beast Slayers. We've exterminated eight spirit beasts, a water weird, and a nest of gargoyles since the fall, all in His Right Honorable Lord Citraan's name. I act in his name, so I'd watch your tongue if I were you, commoner.”

Now it was Yang that stood, combining with Matte to present Cardin with a formidable wall of blonde. “Commoner? I didn't hear any titles in your name, Lieutenant. And just what do you want with Jaune anyway?”

Mention of his lack of title made Cardin go a bit red and the two soldiers behind him avert their eyes from him. “The title's pending when my Knight Captain leads us to bringing the red dragon's head back to Lord Citraan. And that's why I want Arc: Either he's lying and wasting our time, or he's telling the truth and cost me a knighthood.”

Deftly, he drew the heavy mace from the loop at his hip. The flanges responded to the motion by glowing with intense heat that radiated off them enough to ripple the air. “Either way, he has an appointment to speak with my Lourd Bombard.”

Nora scuttled along the table to get closer to her fiance. “Ren? Is he talking about hurting Jaune?”

“I don't think it's going to turn out well for him, but yes, I believe he is, Nora.” Normally, he'd be concerned about the glint in her eye, but the man in question was threatening his friend, so he'd allow it unopposed up to a point.

Eyeing a beat up buckskin knapsack she'd bought with her so she could tinker in the quiet moments, she asked, “Does that mean I can blow his legs off?”

“Let's not for the moment.”

Having heard that exchange, Cardin went even more red. This was only exacerbated by the fact that the common room suddenly went silent, something he could only assume was because the patrons were watching the spectacle of him being insulted.

Left with no option but to save face, he stormed the last few steps over to the table and loomed over Nora. “Are you threatening an agent of the crown, muck-eater?”

He ignored the warning signs. Nora's ears flattened to the sides of her head. Ren leaned forward while simultaneously pushing his seat out. The rest of the table grew tense. Just from the context, even Pyrrha knew he'd said something very wrong.

It was about that time that Jaune finally got the wherewithal to step in. “Sir, I'm sorry for whatever I did that wronged you, but I'm going to need you to take that back. 'Muck-eater' isn't a thing we call goblins in Croceatta. It's not polite.”

Cardin's eyes narrowed. “Then I take it you're Arc, huh?”

“I'd be happy to discuss all this with you,” said Jaune, trying to remain calm in the face of a large, armed man who in all likelihood wouldn't suffer even a harsh word from the authorities for killing him, “After you apologize to my friend Nora.”

At this, Cardin snorted derisively. “I'm not apologizing to a goblin. You backwater mouth breathers might get all chummy with the savages, but I've got no reason to play like they're real people.” He looked like he was about to pile on more to the fire he'd stoked under every person at the table, but his eye fell on Pyrrha before he could.

His expression changed to something new entirely; an oily kind of grin that promised nothing kind. Swinging the mace up onto his shoulder, he struck a pose with it. “Are you the one they say is the princess? The one this faker supposedly 'saved' from the dragon?”

“I am.” Pyrrha replied tightly. Like the others, she already wanted to punch him with enough force to leave his mouth a jumbled bag of assorted tooth parts, but she resisted. There seemed to be something holding even the normally rebellious Yang and Nora back from doing so. That didn't mean she wasn't going to give him a piece of her mind.

But maybe that part was her low tolerance to alcohol talking.

Rising from her chair, she met his eyes dead on. “And Jaune is not a faker. He arrived at the dragon's lair with an intent to slay her for Lord Citraan's reward. He was outmatched, but she did not know that, so he was able to bluff her into fleeing, freeing me from being ransomed in the process. What of any of that would you Lord deem worthy of allowing you to dole out punishment?”

The lecherous expression faded as the redhead reminded him of why he was there in the first place. He narrowed his eyes and turned his attention back to Jaune. “Where did the red go? She better not have left he Valley entirely or so help me...”

He'd miscalculated though. Now Jaune had had time to think and he was bolstered from having Pyrrha reiterate their lie. Here was an agent of Lord Citraan, one of his Dragonslayers. One of the very people they needed to convince in order to carry out their plot. With his new understanding of the Word and Song, he was feeling pretty confident that he could pull off the trick he'd only previously used without thinking: making someone do what he said.

The only problem: he was Jaune Arc. Defense of Home and Hearth; of the people he cared about, were the cornerstones of the family philosophy dating all the way back to his Grandmother who forged Croceatta and unleashed all manner of fell magics into the world for just those ideals.

Anyone else would have let it go. He should have let it go, but he couldn't.

“I said I wouldn't tell you anything until you apologize to Nora.” He said firmly, remaining seated.

Cardin's lips pulled back in a full snarl and he raised the mace.

Yang's hand closed into a fist, heat starting to radiate off her. Ren started to reach for Nora. Matte reached for her smith's hammer at her belt. Pyrrha called up ferif into her hands, ready to use the power of metal to deflect Cardin's weapon. Behind Cardin, the other two soldiers reached for their own weapons.

“Apologize. To. Nora.” Everyone there, if asked, would have sworn that Jaune Arc spoke those words in the common tongue with just a hint more force than he would normally speak with. This wasn't true. Instead he invoked the Word: communication beyond phonemes and on into pure, unalloyed meaning.

He managed to keep himself steady after saying that even though when he called up power from the Well, he felt a second resonance nearby aside from Pyrrha. The only people he knew who would give him such a feeling were Master Logaire and Summaiyi. Both he knew were either in Croceatta or on their way.

To say he wanted to talk to the former couldn't be stated strongly enough. And to say he dreaded seeing the later again more than anything Cardin could do to him also went without saying.

Speaking of Cardin, he was in the grand scheme of things a simple person. Few strong convictions, a below average amount of willpower, and a self image that relied more on flashy displays instead of anything internal. There was little within him to resist the simple command issued to him.

“Whatever.” Cardin turned to Nora and dipped his head. “I'm sorry, okay?” There was a brief moment where Cardin seemed to wonder what he'd just done, but it didn't last and instead he went right back to menacing Jaune without batting an eye further. “Now: where did the dragon go?”

With a swift glance around to make sure everyone was at their ease—or closer to it—Jaune shrugged. “I don't really know. She just left. I'm pretty sure she's the last person she wants to know where she's making her next lair.” Up to that point, he'd been babbling to buy time to think of a way to diffuse the situation completely. Finally, he saw an opening and took it. “I'd be happy to deliver a full report to Lord Citraan if it would so please him.”

Cardin grunted. “What? You think he's going to give you the reward for chasing that monster off instead of killing it?”

Again, Jaune shrugged. “What difference does it make if she's dead or gone? If she's out of the Valley, she's out of Lord Citraan's hair, right? I don't expect the full reward... or even any coin at all, just some recognition to the deal, really.” He paused as really emotion caught up with him with the next words: “I just want to do my family proud.”

“Is that all you're about?” Cardin demanded, “That dragon's head is more than your entire dirt hole town is worth plus a seat at the table when Lord Citraan comes out of all this as the king of everything from here on east and south to the sea and you want you mama and papa to be proud? That's the kind of pathetic idiocy that might have cost me all that?!”

The Red Nation didn't have a word for the warmth of alcohol surging through their blood. Pyrrha was sorely in need of that word as she fought not to sway on her feet. Her metabolism was burning through the mead at a pace mortals—even dwarves—would envy, but not fast enough to save her from the effects of liquid courage. She stepped forward only to bump into the table, making her already poor balance start to fail. Jaune put his hand at the small of her back to steady her.

Normally, she would have flashed him a grateful smile, but her ire was now fully focused on Cardin. “I can't think of a more noble reason to do so. It's certainly moreso than base desire for a title and profit.”

A black cat, likely one of the alehouse's mousers, brushed past her ankle, nearly making her loose her newly regained balance and taking some of the edge off her little moment.

Cardin huffed and narrowed his eyes. “Spoken like someone who already had both, your majesty.”

The retort was on the tip of Pyrrha's tongue, but someone else acted first. “I believe you have all the information you came for, do you not, good sir?” All present looked past Cardin and his lackeys to find the real reason the alehouse had gone quiet standing there.

The hailene templar of Denaii, Weiss Schnee had her wings pulled in tight against her back and was holding a stack of covered plates wrapped in warm towels in her arms. Somehow, despite being exceptionally short for a hailene, she managed to give the impression of absolutely towering over Cardin.

She hadn't asked him that question either: she'd told him.

“What in the Seven Interlocking Hells is with this town?” Cardin asked once her turned to face her. His cronies whipped around at her voice, clearly shocked to find a hailene in their midst. “All these dirty savage beasts I understand, but a hailey? Is this the low point between the mountains where all the garbage tends to collect?”

Weiss remained implacable, her expression as if carved in stone. “Do you think your hate and bravado impress me? My people invented treating other races as if they were not people. 'Ang'hailene' is the word we invented to call others literally 'not people'. If you're wondering how we fared for that, I will remind you that the great land of Illium is now the Illium Archipelago.”

“You want a real history lesson?” said Cardin with a dangerous edge in his voice, “How about I show you what my grandparents did to the haileys with Lourd Bombard.”

The hailene merely smirked. “You mean what they did to us with the help of the dragons you're so keen to betray for a noble title?” She met his eye levelly. “We suffered for our grand sins. I've come to accept that I will be a pariah for what was done before I was born. Will you? Will your children?”

While Cardin tried to think up a response, Pyrrha watched the hailene closely. She knew about the War, but not the aftermath as it pertained to the hailene. Up until she'd seen Weiss and her sister, she vaguely assumed they'd gone extinct when the goddess Dey decimated their homeland.

Hearing the story though made her feel a sense of kinship with the woman. Hailene, it seemed, were part of the same cycle of pride and fall the dragons were.

Meanwhile, Weiss had tired of waiting for Cardin to gather what wits he had. Rolling her eyes, she sighed dramatically. “You serve a Lord, and so do I. My Lord is Denaii the Lawgiver, God of all that is upright and orderly. In his service, I am a templar; charged to right wrongs and correct injustices—and prevent breeches of peace. I ask you respectfully to sheath your weapon and leave this place. There is no need for violence and unrest here.”

For just a brief moment, Cardin's knuckles whitened on Lourd Bombard's haft. Then his eyes focused on the stylized eye pendant hanging around her neck. Even though the Vishnari Alliance had collapsed following the War the Vishnari Pantheon was far more ancient and respected. Killing one of their anointed templars in cold blood was a sure way to get a rebellion on your hands. And if it happened by Cardin's hand, Lord Citraan would have his head.

The mace dropped to his side as he grit his teeth. “Come on, boys; time and place.” He started to stride off, pausing only to toss behind his shoulder, “I'll see you around the Festival, Arc. Count on it.”

Silence filled the alehouse in the first few moments of his departure before the drink and the need to comment got the place humming with conversation again. Tension broken, Pyrrha dropped back into her chair, a long breath escaping her.

“You okay?” Jaune asked softly, moving his hand from her back to her shoulder.

Unconsciously, she leaned into his touch. “I am. Just... I didn't expect that is all. If this is just the Lieutenant to a Knight Captain, what are the rest of Citraan's people going to be like?” Taking a second to compose herself, she then added. “I saw what you did there though. Very impressive.”

“It just... came out,” Jaune admitted, “and I got the feeling that it only worked because that guy's kind of weak-minded.”

Pyrrha offered him a sweet smile. “Don't sell yourself so short. Plus it's not just what you did, but the fact that you did it for a friend.” 

Nora, the friend in question, glared after Cardin, arms crossed. “I'm just saying: this could have been avoided by exploding him.”

Ren reached up and rubbed her back soothingly. “Like most explosions though, we'd have a whole new set of problems to deal with.”

“Yeah, but explosion problems are fun problems!” the little goblin insisted.

Meanwhile, Yang and Matte had risen and come to hem Weiss in on both sides. The once fierce and stalwart expression the hailene had worn melted into trepidation. It didn't get better when Yang clapped her on the back right where her wings met her spine, causing her to wince.

“Nicely done, Feathers! And here I thought you didn't like use from the cold reception we got earlier.”

“I was merely doing my duty in keeping the peace,” Weiss insisted. “I didn't even know you would be here. Mrs. Arc asked me to come collect from prepared meals because everyone was too tired to cook tonight.”

Matte wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a powerful side hug. “Whatever you intended, you ended up helping my baby brother out. That makes you good people in my book and that earns you a quaff of the good stuff: my personal mead recipe. Come drink with us!”

The two of them were loud enough to send the cat from earlier scurrying out from under the table to find refuge elsewhere.

“I really should return to the Arc home with the food.” Weiss said quickly.

“It'll keep,” replied Matte, taking the covered plates from the templar and setting them on the table. “And if it doesn't, I'll take the blame.”

Before Weiss could reply, Ruby had swiftly made her way in front of her. “Oh please? I've never met a hailene before—or a templar! I've got so many questions!”

Weiss's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Wait... none of you care that I'm a hailene?”

This drew a deep, boisterous laugh from Yang. “As long as you don't care what we are, we'll call it even. Not like you were alive during the war or something.”

“Besides,” Matte continued where Yang left off, “This is Croceatta. I'm sure if grandmama met a hailene who wanted to fight on our side back in the war, she wouldn't've batted an eye before letting them fight beside her. Besides: wings, fangs or other thangs, good people is good people. Come on, it's time for another song. Strike up the pipes, Jaune!”

Her shoulders dropping in defeat, Weiss relented. “I suppose I can partake in one cup of wine.”

Yang made a rude noise. “Did ya miss the sigh when you came in, Fly Girl? It's an ale house. The choice of drinks is: ale, ale, ale, ale, ale...”

“And mead.” Matte picked up the cask she'd been filling everyone's mugs with. “Who needs ta be topped off?”

“No more for a bit for me, thank you,” Pyrrha held up a hand to ward off the proffered refill. In a few minutes, she was going to have a hangover. Apparently one of the 'perks' of an accelerated metabolism was being able to blaze through all the benefits of drink to get to the consequences quicker.

Matte shook her head, making her braids dance around her face. “If you're going be...” she shot Jaune a sly look that reminded him too much of Yang, “...spending time around here, you're really going to have to work on your alcohol tolerance, Princess. We can't have Jaune being able to drink you under the table, now can we?”

The dragoness couldn't stifle a giggle at the perturbed expression that painted Jaune's face when he heard that. She shot him a fond, drunken smile when he looked at her with mock betrayal. “No, I suppose we can't now can we?”

“Now that's what I want to hear!” Matte bellowed and refilled Pyrrha's mug.

RWBYRWBYRWBY

It was well into the wee hours of the morning when they got back to the Arc home. Ren and Nora retired to their cart while the rest of them made for the house itself. Matte and Yang were carrying mugs and softly slurring their way through Good Folks We Welcome Thee while Jaune and Ruby helped the incredibly sauced Pyrrha and Weiss on their way.

While Weiss was completely out of it and had to be carried, Jaune counted Ruby as the lucky one. As it turned out, hailene had hollow bones and very little body fat meaning Weiss, who was unusually short for her kind in the first place, was so light that she didn't slow Ruby and her lupine strength down.

Pyrrha on the other hand was mostly moving under her own power, but being blitzed out of her mind seemed to heighten her draconic magpie tendencies, forcing her to meander whenever something shiny, valuable or just interesting-looking crossed her line of sight. And when she wasn't doing that, she was leaning into him hard enough to almost knock him down so she could mumble things to him in the draconic tongue. Whatever it was must have been funny, because she would fall into fits of laughter afterward.

When they got to the door, Matte stopped them. “Uh-kay,” she said, swaying a bit on her feet. “So Weese an' her sis are in Marron's room. The Get, you guys are in the guest room. That means I guess the Princess can room with me. I took Blanche's old room 'cause I was sick of Claire tellin' me t' pick up after m'self.”

She and Yang shared a look before she added, “'course, if she wants to she could sleep with you, Jaune.” She blinked, seeing the possible double meaning, “I mean bed you.” Another blink. “Hold on. Wait. Didn't come out right. What I mean t' imply is you two could sex.”

Yang grinned at Jaune's exasperated reaction and gave Matte a congratulatory grip on the arm.

“You two stop being mean and gross!” Ruby admonished. Despite having put away four mugs of mead, she was the most clearheaded of the whole group.

The two elder siblings snickered and stumbled into the house after her, leaving Jaune to steer Pyrrha away from an avaricious pass at the wind chimes on the porch.

When he finally gotten a firm hold of her arm and was starting to lead her inside, she yawned, winced at her aching head, and muzzily asked, “Did your sister say we had permission to share a bed?”

“She doesn't exactly have a right to give that permission but... in a way?”

“Then can we? I was dreading... not... doing that.”

He knew he'd pay for this in the morning. His sisters would be merciless, the rest of the Get of Shuck would smell them on each other instantly and he couldn't even predict what comments Autumn or Qrow would make—or the terrible and uncomfortable advice Taiyang would offer. Not to mention what his parents would say. After all, he and Pyrrha hadn't even declared their intentions yet.

Wouldn't be declaring their intentions, he amended. Because they weren't really 'sharing a bed' they with literally just sharing a bed. That 'just' was important. And painful.

But consequences be damned to all Seven Interlocking Hells; he needed that closeness just as much as she did.

“Of course,” he said, and led on.

Across the yard, on a adjacent roof, the cat from the alehouse watched as the door to the Arc homestead closed before hopping nimbly to the ground and padding away to a place where there weren't any late night revelers or even tents or carts full of sleeping travelers.

Only when it was completely alone did it take the time to change. Its small, feline body swelled and stretched smoothly and seamlessly into one of a human female with long, black hair wearing nothing except a pair of linked silver rings.

With a snap of her fingers, the rings flashed and she was suddenly clothed in a close-fitting white linen robe tied with a wide, black sash through which a long, straight black-lacquered scabbard had been thrust. From an inner pocket, she withdrew a shallow wooden bowl lined with tin and inscribed with arrays of vin and vox. When she squeezed it, the device glowed softly.

“I have a report for His Lordship,” the woman reported quietly. “There is foreign royalty in the Valley. She seems to have gotten quite close to the descendants of the Blight Witch. Please advice on how I should proceed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was mostly just fan service and a bridge to the Block the following day. People wanted more RWBY characters, so let's bring in Cardin and Blake. Cardin will have a larger part before we're done with Croceatta while Blake will be more important later.
> 
> This was always going to be Cardin, actually. As much as I didn't feel the need to bring in a lot of other characters from canon, I always wanted Cardin to be the first example of Citraan's attitudes that our heroes come across.
> 
> Considering Jaune has already blown up a spirit beast and crippled a T-rex, I don't really feel a need for him to 'overcome' Cardin, but... well you'll see.
> 
> As for Blake, she is largely included a fan service. There's really no White Fang equivalent I could have dropped in here, so in order to get Blake to feel right here, I had to drop her onto the side of evil as it were. Instead of a faunus, she is a cat hengeyokai, an animal empowered by the same goddess that granted werewolves their powers to transform into a human.
> 
> It's kind of tragic for those of you who have read the novels or the RPG rules because you'll notice that in present day Ere, there are only spider hengeyokai... that people know of.
> 
> I'm curious what people think of Matte. I know a lot of folks don't like Gris in Arc Reaction and I know a lot of people will feel Matte is just a Yang clone, but I hope I've made them distinct enough. Like most Croceatta characters, she's only going to be around another three... four chapters, so if you don't like her, she won't be around forever.
> 
> Someone asked what the source novels are. They're the Rune Breaker series: A Girl and Her Monster, Lighter Days, Darker Nights, The Path of Destruction, and Evil Unto Evil; and Soul Battery: currently Children of Agmar and City of Bards with an upcoming book Legacy of the Hailene. All written by yours truly.
> 
> Before anyone corrects me, the 'good people is good people' is written how I intended. They're speaking a more colloquial dialect. People have pointed out it's grammatically incorrect before so I figured I'd explain.
> 
> Next chapter, Jaune will head to the Block, but will his new-found fame really find him at the heart of a bidding war? And will that even be what he wants any more?


	24. Going to the Block

Jaune didn't know what exactly woke him up the next morning, only that he was momentarily confused. After months of sleeping either inside or on the stiff straw-stuffed mattresses that served as beds in inns, he'd almost forgotten one of the best advantages of growing up in a family that farmed ornises: the fluffy, cloud-like comfort of an ornis down stuffed mattress. The contentment he felt in that moment of waking wasn't just because it was his first sleep in a truly comfortable bed; it had more to do with the incredibly warm body he held in his arms.

He looked down to find the slumbering face of Pyrrha partially obscured by both her hair and his chest as she rested her head against it. Seeing her there, so peaceful, so beautiful... it made foolish thoughts flit through his head and heart. It wasn't helped by the conversation they'd shared before going to the Seven Cups. She'd said that she could be attracted to a human in almost the same breath as she'd talked about not understanding why human women couldn't see his value as a companion.

A fanciful part of him wanted to take that as her admitting—on some level at least—an attraction to him. But he dismissed that. Maybe she could see humans as attractive and maybe she enjoyed spending time with him but that still didn't say she saw him as attractive or that she wanted anything more than simple companionship. Given how often he'd had to fend off his friends and family about their relationship, she'd had ample opportunity to say something if she felt that way.

No, he had to abandon that line of thought. And Yang had—in her own way—provided him a means of doing so. She'd made him viable for the block for the first time in his life. Of course she'd done that by lying and said lie was completely unsustainable, but it got women actually looking his way when they averted their eyes at the sickly waste of a marriage prospect before.

And perhaps that was enough. Maybe if he managed to attract a bid on the block, he'd be able to use the day he and whoever 'won' him would have together to convince her that he did have some worth as a husband. At the very least, he might get his mind and eyes off the unattainable.

As much as he hated the idea, it was what was best for everyone involved. Unconsciously, he tightened his embrace around the sleeping redhead. To his mortification, she let out a little 'eep' and her eyes fluttered open. That entrancing green gaze cast about for a few seconds before locking on his own.

“Oh,” she said simply before smiling at him. She made a happy humming sound and stretched, which did... interesting things considering how they were pressed together. “Good morning, Jaune.” A lump caught in his throat; she just seemed so happy to have woken up next to him.

“G-good morning.” It took every ounce of his discipline to firmly remind himself that she didn't know the implications of everything that she seemed to take for granted between them.

It was that moment that the sound that woke Jaune up in the first place came again: Laughter. Hearty, jovial laughter that drifted up through the floor from the main room of the house below. He knew they couldn't possibly be doing so, but it felt like they were laughing at his enviable predicament.

When Pyrrha seemed content to just laze there, eyes drifting closed as she resumed her place against his side—albeit now with her head on his shoulder not his chest—he decided it was up to him to take initiative. “Um... by the sound of things, breakfast is almost ready. Wonder who's cooking today?”

Though he'd been gone the whole winter, Jaune keenly remembered how breakfast at the Arc homestead went. Everyone learned to cook at a young age and have been brought up with a healthy joy for doing so. While dinner was commanded by their parents, the honor of making breakfast went to whoever got up first and got things going.

It became even more of a free-for-all when the get of Shuck was in town. Summer, Taiyang, and Ruby all loved to cook just as much as any of the Arcs (though in Ruby's case, her enthusiasm was largely unearned) and they also joined in the friendly competition to decide who claimed the hearth in the mornings.

“Should we get dressed and head down then?” Pyrrha asked in a way that hinted that she would be perfectly happy staying put.

“You've seen Ruby and Yang eat; we might already be too late.” The joke came easily even though he'd just been feeling incredibly tense.

Pyrrha let out a tiny sigh. “I suppose we have no choice then.

Reluctantly, the pair separated, going to opposite corners of the room and changing from the clothes they'd been wearing the night before with their backs to one another. It was a routine they'd perfected over their days in the wilderness and stops at inns.

Knowing he'd be making his appearance on the Block, Jaune dug through his dresser drawers and found his fancy go-to-meeting clothes: a pair of dark blue trousers, a crisp, white shirt with gilded toggles, and a white half-cloak with the Arc family crest—two golden arcs one inside the other—on his shoulders.

Possibly because she picked up on his mood to dress up, Pyrrha selected the dress she'd gotten in Sol Sodatta for the day.

It wasn't much later that the two came down the stairs from the upper level of the Arc home into the main room. They were just in time to hear a male voice speaking, “'but honey,' she says, 'this one's eating my corncakes!'.”

The whole room erupted into laughter. As he entered the room, Jaune saw his father and mother along with Summer sharing the long, padded bench that stretched across the length of the low divider between the main room and the dining room. Across from then, sitting in one of the two big, overstuffed chairs next to the hearth was Qrow, a lanky man with dark hair and slightly pointed ears and a vaguely greenish complexion that hinted at orcish origins.

In the dining room, Winter sat across a hopeki board from Violetta. Matte sat at the table as well, observing what appeared to be a tense session of the old strategy board game.

As the laughter died down, Summer turned to look at them with a cheeky grin that made Jaune brace as if in preparation for a nakka to snare him with its tongue. “Well this is a surprise. I thought you two would be the last ones up.”

Jaune thought quickly to play off the comment before Summer could inevitably elaborate on why she assumed they would be so tired. “I can't imagine we'd be up any later than Yang or Matte considering how much they drank last night.”

The latter of the two mentioned folded her arms and lifted her chin with pride. “As if a little drink would keep me in bed. Some of us have chores to get to after breakfast.” Then her smile turned sweetly poisonous. “Oh, you haven't met the Princess, have you Father?”

Leon Arc had been a large man in his prime, but inaction thanks to his injuries had robbed him of much of his bulk. Despite that, he still had broad shoulders and a strong jaw. He took up a carved wooden cane tipped with an iron lion's head and with it rose to his feet.

“No I have not.” The cane thumped heavily on the wooden floor boards as he crossed the room. Pyrrha met him part way and offered her hand for him to take. “My apologies for not being here to greet you when you first arrived. Welcome to the Arc house, Majesty. I'm Leon Arc.”

“A pleasure, sir. And thank you and your family for accepting me into your home,” Pyrrha said graciously. “Oh. And please call me Pyrrha. I've enough siblings ahead of me that I'm in no danger of receiving the crown.”

The elder Arc man smiled broadly. As if trying to be true to his name, his gray-streaked blonde hair hung down ti his shoulders in a proud mane. A loose charcoal-colored shirt was buttoned over his once powerful frame while a simple set of homespun trousers completed his outfit. “As you wish, Pyrrha.” He chuckled a bit at that, obviously tickled at the idea of addressing a noble by her first name.

Jaune stole a look at Summer, then at Qrow. Summer smiled an innocent smile. Qrow gave Jaune the 'your ass is mine' look he used to get when he was about to make Jaune shinny up a tree to pick fruit knowing full well it wasn't going to end well. From that, he could assume that the entire Get of Shuck knew about him and Pyrrha's... sleeping arrangements... and hadn't told his parents.

He'd have been grateful if he didn't know that almost the entire family were tricksters in a vein to make Pandemos himself proud. They would claim their due soon enough.

Oblivious to all that, Leon continued. “I trust my boy's treated you as you deserve then?”

“Of course. Jaune has been an absolute job to be with on our travels. I wouldn't have made it this far without him and even if I had, I wouldn't have enjoyed it a fraction as much.”

“Excellent.” Leon boomed and turn his attentions to Jaune. “And welcome home, m'boy!” He reached out a meaty paw and thumped Jaune on the shoulder. “I've been hearing tell of what you've been up to all last evening and this morning. The 'Dragonslayer of Croceatta'. A title it seemed you earned by your wits.” He tapped his temple with an index finger. “As I always told you, son: this world isn't won by brawn alone. Looks like you finally listened to what I've been trying to teach you all these years.”

Jaune ducked his head and stammered a thanks. Meanwhile Pyrrha was fitting together a more complete picture of who Jaune was. His family at least might have feared for him in some capacity, but they still believed in him. What really held him back was his own guilt for his father's injury. As it was, Leon's praise wasn't all that effective because he was a living reminder of why Jaune didn't think himself worthy.

So she took matters into her own hands. “You must have taught him very well sir. The dragon was only the first foe I saw him best with his wit.” She then proceeded to tell the assembled about the ospreshrike and a nakka as well as Master Logaire's revelations about Jaune's abilities. All in all, it impressed everyone, including Winter, who ended up losing at her game with Violetta because she'd become distracted listening.

Everyone except one person.

Qrow let out a sarcastic laugh and took a drink from a nickel flask he kept in a pocket. “So I spent the better part of a year tryin' ta' correct your cock-eyed magic and it turns out ta' be the wrong kind of magic?” He dragged himself out of his seat and sauntered over. For a split second, Pyrrha thought he was going to attack Jaune.''

In a way, she was right. The drunken werewolf threw an arm around the young man and put him in an easy headlock dragging his knuckles roughly across the other's scalp. “Well good for you kid. You found another way ta' be more of a pain in my ass—lettin' that poncy old man with his 'Troupe' over on the East Greens make me look like a shit magic teacher.”

Jaune didn't fight. In fact he started to laugh before the knuckling started to get painful. It looked like a ritual the two had been over time and time again. Normally, she wouldn't have interrupted the roughhousing if not for a thought that struck her.

“Over on... are you saying Master Logaire is here? I suppose he did say he was headed in this direction. Jaune, maybe we should speak to him—he seems to be an invaluable source of knowledge about bards and their abilities. You could learn so much!”

Jaune finally evade Qrow by letting himself become dead weight, putting all his mass on the older man to support for just a moment. Being at least a little bit in his cups, Qrow overbalanced, moved his arm to keep himself upright, and lost the tussle as Jaune slipped out of his slackened grasp and hopped out of arm's reach.

He then rubbed the back of his head nervously. “Are... you sure that's a good idea, Pyrrha? Summaiyi will be with him and she might ty and fight you again.”

“I can face her if it comes to that,” Pyrrha insisted. After all, she wouldn't be tipsy and forgetful this time.

“Um... well maybe tomorrow. See, I was sort of thinking about Yang's suggestion yesterday. About... maybe going on the Block?”

He was already regretting it just from excited reactions from everyone in the room. The hubub was enough that he barely noticed... that none if it was coming from Pyrrha.

RWBYRWBYRWBY

The 'Block' was literally the auctioneer's block on the North Greens near the paddocks where the Arc family and others raised the various livestock that made up the bulk of Croceatta's wealth. It consisted of a stage made of conjured stone and magically grown wood strong enough to hold full grown creatos trotted out for auction.

At the very center of the Block was a permanent circle of precious aluminum engraved with vin symbols that commanded the air to carry whatever words were spoken inside the circle to all corners of the North Greens. Normally, the block was the focal point of most of the traffic from outsiders, but during the festival, the reverse was true: the Block and the festivities surrounding it was almost strictly of interest to the people of Croceatta and their neighbors.

By three bells before noon, the green surrounding the Block were surrounded by familiar faces. Many were there to support family, both on the Block and bidding. Others just wanted to watch the stories that unfolded: bitter love triangles revealed by bidding wars, cozy tales of young love symbolized by a personal and deeply considered single bid, or the occasional tragic farce of someone going up on the Block and getting no offers.

That someone was usually Jaune Arc but this year, as he stood on the stone stage alongside the other 'offerings', he couldn't help but notice that a lot of eyes were on him. A year ago, he would have been the happiest man in the village over this, eagerly combing the crowd with his eyes, sizing up his prospects.

Now that it was actually happening? He wasn't even thinking all that much about them. Mostly he was searching the crowd... for Pyrrha. He assured himself that it was because he was concerned that the whole thing would be boring to her, but still... that wasn't the whole truth.

He decided to focus on the offering on the block ahead of him.

Haltern was the daughter of the Shamblethorn Tribe's chieftain, Uestas and was for all appearances enjoying her first year on the Block. She was petite as minotaurs went, standing just under seven and a half feet tall, her chocolate-colored hair done up in three braids; two that hung over her shoulders and one that fell all the way down her back to her waist. For the occasion, she's polished her backward-swept horns, brushed her fur until it was glossy and donned a bright blue toga cinched by a belt of copper links.

And her daizaku. The ceremonial minotaur coming-of -age gift was a sword over six feet in length with a slight curve and a single outside edge. She kept it resting on her shoulders as her father—her designated presenter for the Block—ruminated on her prowess with that weapon: how many boars, wild ceratos and other beasts she'd slain.

He then segued into how studied she was: how she spoke and wrote Gretz—the Goblin tongue—Ougharashi--the ancient tongue of the Orcs—and was set to study at the Deniian House of Hidden Numbers in the River Kingdoms come the summer. Then he read a poem she'd written.

Minotaurs were... complex... was Jaune's assessment of what he knew at least of the Shamblethorns. Being born naturally powerful, they had the luxury to focus on being well-rounded: both excellent warriors, scholars and artists. They could write about the power and majesty of an ankyl—then beat it to death with its own mace-like tail should it become necessary.

The poem—written in chittering, clipped Gretz which was going to have Uestas gargling salt water for a week after trying to pronounce—seemed to inflame the artists' souls of the young minotaurs and even an ogre in the audience.

The bids were typical for Shamblethorn offerings: a bear fur cloak, several crafts made from dried flowers or carved bone, various woodcrafted concoctions from balms to perfumes, and a bouquet of wildflowers that could crush a human child (ogres were often romantics... but in no way complex).

In the end though, they were all for show. Everyone already knew who would win and with what: a young bull by the name of Colved had been close to Haltern for quite some time and so she quickly chose the amulet carved from a cerato knee-cap depicting a hart he'd bid as the winner.

Everyone—even the rejected bidders—applauded as the young couple made their way off the green and toward the rest of the Planter's Festival to enjoy their day together.

And then it was Jaune's turn.

His presenter was none other than Yang, and he could tell by the way she strutted out into the far-speaking circle that he was in for something mortifying.

“Goooood Moooorning Croceatta!” She crowed, beaming at hearing her voice carry. “Are we feeling good this morning!”

“Yes!” came the unmistakable voice of Nora. She got a laugh.

“That's good. And did you ladies bring our best to bid?” This was answered by a few cat calls and various items being held aloft. There were mostly loaves of bread and other foodstuffs, but here and there Jaune saw live chickens and a bolt of cloth.

“Excellent,” Yang grinned, “Because do I have the future loving husband for you. He came from this lovely, humble town and spent the years traveling the wide world. You've all heard of his exploits: he weaved a net of words that trapped the Red Dragon of the Western Ranges! He wove a spell that mortally wounded a mighty ospreshrike! He called upon forces beyond our understanding to lay low a spirit beast!”

Jaune felt that was hardly accurate. Pyrrha had killed the nakka, not him.

“And all that, he's just a plain stand-up guy. Skilled in woodcraft, a flutist, an award-winning storyspinner, and the most loyal friend I've ever know. I have the pleasure and privilege to present to you the Dragonslayer of Croceatta: Mr Jaune Arc!”

He stepped forward into the circle. Already there were shouts and offers. Dozens of women had fallen for Yang's deception.

“A fresh loaf of marbled rye!”

“Two laying hens!”

“A bolt of cotton cloth!”

Things were starting to be tossed on stage by the more serious bidders. One particularly scared hen took refuge by fleeing behind Yang after being throw up there. It barely missed being hit by a blanket.

It was surreal for Jaune to watch. Sure he knew it was all thanks to Yangs lies and showmanship, but even still, it was for him. These women were competing to spend the day with... him. He could only watch in awe as more items joined the pile: more bread of course—the most popular bid—along with other baked goods like muffins, pieces of homespun clothing, and even a well made dagger.

He wondered how he would even choose. The bids, after all, weren't the point, but the people who bid them. Except he didn't really know any of the women bidding. Even the ones he grew up with were mostly strangers thanks to having grown up sickly and isolated. At best, they were people he'd said hello to in the streets. There was nothing for him to go on to make his choice.

A new voice from the crowd tore him out of any further though. It rose above all the others, at least in his mind, clear and loud and filling him with a swirl of emotion.

“Eighty-seven silver coins!”

Everyone else fell silent. No doubt, they had to pause to at least be sure they heard what they thought they heard. Off the the left of his vision, he saw the crowd part, a number of village women turning and standing aside so they could get a better look at the speaker.

Sure enough, Pyrrha Nikos in her Sol Sodatta finery was standing there, holding aloft the venerable enchanted bag she'd taken from her hoard. It was hanging open to reveal a small fortune in silver. The collection of coppers she'd amassed was nowhere to be seen, leaving the silver to shine all the brighter alone.

Seeing others staring at her, she assumed she was missing something. After a moment of thought, she drew back and threw the bag on stage. It landed a good three stride in front of Jaune, the wealth inside spilling out to clatter and roll all over the ground at his feet.

For his part, Jaune could only stare, splitting his focus between the coins and their owner. He couldn't fathom what could have possessed her to do that. Forget bidding any amount of actual hard coin on him; she was a dragon parting with her what little remained of her hoard over some silly local custom.

Then he started feeling bad because somehow despite his explanations of what the Block was—what it meant—Pyrrha clearly still didn't understand the implications of bidding on him. Especially not in such a bombastic manner or such an exorbitant amount.

He knew too who to put the blame one. Some way, some how. And said blame target started talking again.

“Uh-oh, ladies! Looks like the visiting nobility has staked her claim! But remember: no matter how big she bids, it's the Dragonslayer—or should I say Ladykiller's choice which bid wins.” She then turned to Jaune with a grin so wide one could have ridden a horse through it. “So who's the lucky lady, Jaune-y?”

Then she winked at him.

Whatever game she was playing, Jaune really and truly wished he wasn't on stage in front of most of the village. That way he could have glared, yelled and conjured down so much water than her hair would never get dry. It wasn't one of her fun, lighthearted pranks, it was painful for him and just plain mean to Pyrrha who couldn't know any better.

Looking past Yang, he saw Pyrrha still in the center of attention and watching him with an expression he couldn't place. She seemed proud of herself at least, with an edge of anticipation. It was clear even to him that for whatever reason Yang had impressed upon her, she really wanted him to choose her bid.

Suppressing a sigh, he smoothed out his cloak, then knelt to gather the spilled coins back into the bag. He glance in Pyrrha's direction in time to see her shoulders relax as if she'd been a tense over the situation as he'd been.

Yang nodded in satisfaction and turned back to the crowd. “Looks like he's made his choice, folks!”

It came as a shock to Jaune when the crowd—even the many women who had been bested at bidding—offered a round of genuine applause. While he wondered at that, Yang strode over and started helping him gather the coins.

“Yang,” he hissed to her only to be cut off by a fierce glare.

“All I did was explain the Block to her. Everything else? Her choice.” She put the last handful of coins into the bag and shoved it into his chest. “I would have told her to buy me a keg of Cactus Whiskey off that dwarf trader from the south coast.”

Jaune got a grip on the bag and held it to his body. “This isn't funny Yang.”

“You're damn right it's not funny. It's sad. Just take things as they are, pork pie. And don't keep her waiting.” As they rose, Yang gave Jaune a shove that sent him stumbling toward the movable wooden staircase leading down into the audience.

Staggering as if in a dream, Jaune descended the stairs and was intercepted by an extremely jovial dragoness who had traversed the crowd in the time it had taken them to gather up all the coins. She immediately latched on to his arm.

“Everyone seemed so surprised by my bid. Was it too much? Are you not supposed to bid raw coin?”

“It's... just uncommon. Especially bidding that much. Not disallowed, just rare.”

Pyrrha hummed thoughtfully as they started off through crowd, which was now pressing in to wish the 'happy couple' well. “So I don't forfeit or anything? I get to spend the whole day with you?”

“Um... yeah. Anywhere you want to go. But you know you didn't have to do this just to spend a day at the Festival with me. No matter who won today, there'd always be tomorrow.”

“I suppose,” she agreed, giving his arm a squeeze. “But I wanted to make it clear to you just how much spending time with you is worth.”

Jaune couldn't held by smile and squeeze her arm back. “Thanks Pyrrha. That means more to me than anything anyone else her could have bid.”

She was silent for a moment before changing the subject. “So. Since I am the one who won this time with you, I think we should start by getting something sweet to eat. Maybe that frozen cream I saw across from the shadow play yesterday. Then we need to find someone who sells ornis jerky. Even with everything else I've sampled, it's still my favorite. Then I think maybe we should find some entertainment... Master Logaire's Troupe Magnificent, perhaps?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the night in the hunting lodge basement, this is one of the moments I most anticipated writing. One of the chapters in full I most anticipated writing, really. From Jaune's introspection to the moment on the Block where Pyrrha bids her hoard, I've been excitedly building to this.
> 
> There are a couple of cut parts here: one where with TaiYang making breakfast that sort of fell by the wayside both because I had already established the kitchen as mostly being outside while the scene was inside, and because it really didn't move anything forward. The other was with a hung over Weiss, which got cut for similar reasons.
> 
> Don't worry about Jaune's... less than bright justifications here. We're very near the end and he's sort of grasping at straws due to his self confidence. I don't do 'will they won't they' bullshit.
> 
> This chapter more or less stands on it's own, so there's not much more to say, though I have been reading other fics and I do have a plea to my fellow writers because they ALL seem to be doing this, even the best ones: PLEASE stop referring to the RWBY female cast as 'young girl'. Okay, so 'girl' is often used to refer to most women in the familiar since. 'How're you girls doing?' that sort of thing. However what it really means is adolescent female or even a teen. We're still fine there. But then you add 'young', meaning on the lower end of the age range...
> 
> Except we're talking about seventeen and eighteen year olds on the cusp of if not at adulthood. They may be young and they may be girls, but they are not young for being girls. A young girl is a preteen at max, guys. Every time I read this, it makes me think you're thinking of kids—actual young kids and it takes me out of the story more than anything else because the stories that deal with this invariably are dealing with teenage or more mature subject matter.
> 
> Just... please stop. I beg you. You're killing me.


	25. Bardic Lore

There was, Jaune reflected, a certain point where one's doubts were simple outweighed and overruled but the sheer pleasantness of the situation. Whether or not Pyrrha fully understood the depth of meaning her bid had both personally and socially (not to mention what was going to happen once news of her bid reached his family and the Get of Shuck) was something he could deal with later.

Especially given that it was getting more difficult to deny even to himself that Pyrrha really did seem to know exactly what she was doing. From their travel's he knew that she was more than familiar with the basics of mortal courtship and the idea that she just happened to be mimicking many of them now was... far-fetched.

At the moment, the pair were sitting beneath a tree on the lawn of the Fangrace family who were hosting the same shadow play troupe as the group had seen the night before. A new day saw a new play: Journey to the North, which both of them were familiar with. As soon as they had set down, Pyrrha made sure to place herself right up against his side so he really had no other choice but to wrap his arm around her.

While he was now more than accustomed to just how warm she was from their sleeping arrangement, holding her while they were both awake and in public added an extra element he couldn't fully describe but enjoyed nonetheless.

He smiled as he stole a glance over at her. There was no other way to describe it other than 'cute' seeing the self-proclaimed 'creature of fire' so enjoying her second bowl of the frozen cream treat through bought across the way.

The stuff was made using a combination of a bizarre crank-driven contraption and flaer to pull the heat out of it, creating a smooth, sweet concoction which was then flavored with an extra from of all things the pod of an orchid from the south. They both agreed that once more people heard of it this 'vanilla', its name would be synonymous with exotic and flavorful the world 'round.

Despite literally being a dragon with a new favorite food, Pyrrha did still manage some generosity with the treat, occasionally feeding him a spoonful as they watch the play. Which didn't mean she didn't polish off the lion's share.

The play itself was a competent adaptation of the recent classic about a young dwarf's journey home after the War, missing a few scenes here and there. What made it worth seeing however was the expertise of the shadow play production featuring a mix of both practical shadow puppets projected onto a sizable linen screen using a mage light as well as magically conjured shadows for more complex an nuanced work.

When it was over, Pyrrha stretched languidly, casting only a single mournful glance into her empty bowl. “That was quite good—though don't I remember a part where Graemour gets separated from the others?”

Taking his cue from her, Jaune stretched too and stood before offering a hand to help her up. “You do. A lot of storytellers cut that part out. They say it doesn't add anything to the story, but I always thought it was funny.”

Accepting his help, Pyrrha nodded. “Me as well. If they had to cut anything out, why not the White Cave? That's nothing but a rambling conversation.” She threaded her arm through his then, after looking briefly into his eyes, intertwined their fingers.

Jaune couldn't help but look down at their hands, slowly trailing his gaze up to meet hers. There was very little ambiguity in the gesture and he felt a small smile tug his lips. It took him a few seconds too long to remember they were having a conversation. “Oh. Um... I wouldn't cut the White Cave, I mean it's pretty much where Chilu lays out her whole life philosophy and all the others realize they don't agree. Maybe you could change some of the dialog, but you can't lose the scene.”

Seeming satisfied that her bold move hadn't been rejected, Pyrrha shrugged. “That's not the way I see it. It's pretty simple to see that Chilu doesn't value her or anyone else's life from the rest of the play. We don't need her to say it.”

“I can see why you'd feel that way, but I like the scene.” He shrugged. “So, where to now?”

“As much as I would love to get come more of this frozen cream and perhaps find perhaps someplace where maybe there's dancing, we really should go see Master Logaire.” She gave him a look through her lashes, “Maybe we can do those things after?”

Jaune swallowed heavily. “Of course. Or, I mean we can do them now.”

A small frown painted Pyrrha's face. “Jaune? Is there some reason you don't want to meet with Master Logaire again? Surely you must know that even if that dragonsired is brash enough to fight me in the middle of town, I'm not in any real danger.”

He tried his best not to meet her gaze, but eventually he caught it and felt his defenses collapse immediately. A hopeless sigh wracked his body. “It's not... just that. The thing is, for all my life everything I've ever supposed to have been, I've been a failure at it. The only thing I'm good at is woodcraft and that's something I kind of just stumbled into with the Get. Now I'm supposed to have this power this... big, profound power... I'm worried that the consequences of my bungling can get, well bigger and more profound.”

Scrubbing his free hand through his hair, he continued, “Back at the hunting lodge, when we were fighting the nakka, I used this... scream that hurt it. That hurt the part of it that's connected to the Well of Souls.” The pain in his eyes was obvious. “Pyrrha... you're connected to the Well. All dragons are. What if you'd been caught in it? What if I learn even stranger, more destructive magic? Someone Like me can't be trusted with that.”

At this, Pyrrha disentangled her arm from his and interposed himself in front of him, one hand resting on his collarbone to firmly stop him. “Jaune. You haven't hurt me. You won't hurt me. And even if your normal spells don't work as you expect, you've done amazing things with them and you will do amazing things with any magic you might learn from Master Logaire as well.”

Fixing him with a meaningful look, she added, “You may not believe in yourself, Jaune Arc, but I believe in you enough for both of us.” For a moment, they stood there, transfixed in one another's gaze. It was as if a great force was pressing in on them, drawing them together while pushing all else away. The power of the other's attention held them in place for scant seconds before passing, but when that instant was over, both felt as if they'd been running for hours.

Diverting his gaze to the middle distance, Jaune swallowed a few times, not trusting what words would come out of his mouth. At length, he said, “T-that means a lot coming from you. T-thanks.”

Even with the many words for 'heat' in the dialect of the Red Nation, Pyrrha didn't have one for the sensation that rushed over her skin accompanied by the instinct to glance away as well. “O-of course. You never have to thank me for that.” After a tense few seconds of silence, she added; “W-we should go.”

“Right. Let's go.”

RWBYRWBYRWBY

The Troupe Magnificent had been taken in by another of Croceatta's more prolific families, the Randoels, who allowed the sizable party of entertainers erect their portable stage against the side of their house and park their carts out back.

When Jaune and Pyrrha arrived, the stage was currently being held by a pair of elven twins. Their act involved one brother conjuring artful objects from ice only to have his jealous sibling destroy it with fire, then create an even more complex creation in flames—which was then ended in ice. And so the cycle continued with bigger, flashier creations and more impressive methods of their destruction.

All the while, a small band—a human man in his middle years playing the flute, two black-haired halflings seated together on a long wooden bench providing percussion from a wooden frame arranged in an 'L'-shape around them, holding a large kettle drum, two snares, and a series of metal chimes, and a fiddler who was not Logaire, but a woman no longer young who bore more than a passing resemblance to the bard—played a jaunty tune of increasing tempo along with them.

Jaune and Pyrrha had barely arrived before a familiar face sought them out. Siendre of the Elfhame Tohseid, the elf who greeted them on Master Logaire's behalf back in Sol Sodatta seemed to melt out of the crowd coming and going about the performance. She wore the same gentle smile and a wrap dress made of black homespun cloth fastened at the shoulder with a silver ring.

“Welcome to the open air stage of the Troupe Magnificent, friends,” she greeted. “Master Logaire heard you have arrived in town and has been hoping you'd seek him out. More than a few of us have been keeping an eye out for you.”

“R-really?” Jaune asked, feeling more and more that this was a bad idea, “Why would he want to see the likes of me again?”

Siendre rolled her wrist, which was heavy with almost a dozen narrow bracelets. “It's the responsibility of those in the Bardic College to nurture gifts when they find them. If not for the... misunderstanding between yourselves and Summaiyi... he would have offered to teach you more back at Sol Sodatta, if not to travel here with us.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Jaune laughed nervously. “Right. So Summaiyi... is she...”

“Once this act is over, she'll be on stage. Master Logaire had a very long talk with her that morning and I can promise you she won't be starting anything in this town. Not that I would press my luck by confronting her, of course.” That last part was directed at Pyrrha, who managed to not look annoyed at the implication.

“Of course. I don't want any violence between us. I didn't from the start.”

The elf nodded, satisfied. “Excellent. Then come with me.” With that,s he left them around the audience gathered to watch the act on stage, around back to where the Troupe's wagon's were parked. Along the way, they were able to see black-clad crew members assembling an intricate folding and extending crane that put Ren and Nora's cart to shame for all its clever design. The end was connected to something almost the size of a cerato covered in brown fur—perhaps an enormous puppet.

Pyrrha also caught sight of a distinct set of hook sword being bustled toward the other set of 'wings' for the stage by a tired-looking young half-elf. She decided to pretend she hadn't seen them.

It didn't take them long to reach the largest, most stately of the wagons: half-again as wide as the others and painted a dark shade of blue with all the corners and edges as well as the door and window frames done up in scrolls with gold leaf.

Siendre gave the door a staccato knock and was answered with a grand, jovial “Enter!” from within. She shepherded the pair ahead of her with a smile.

The inside of the wagon resembled a room one might find in a stately villa instead of a wagon's innards. Lacquered wood paneled walls were hung with tapestries depicting people dancing in varied styles of both dance and art.

Impossibly, there was a modest hearth with a roaring fire directly across from the door, flanked by two floor-to ceiling book cases. There were two good-sized leather chairs next to the fire, facing one another across a table set with a gaming board neither Jaune nor Pyrrha recognized. Sitting in a plush chaise toward the front of the wagon next to a sideboard holding a plate of dried fruit and cheese, his fiddle on his lap along with a sheaf of papers, was Master Logaire.

The elderly bard was looking considerably more dapper than when they'd met him. His beard had been neatly trimmed, his hair combed, and instead of rustic clothing, he was wearing a suit the same color as the wagon with a light gray silk shirt and a black cravat with thin red stripes.

Upon seeing who his visitors were, he set the papers and fiddle aside and rose from his seat. “Siendre, with eyes as sharp as yours, you could have become a scout in any army on the continent instead of an actress.”

“And why in the world would I ever give up the stage and the Troupe?” Siendre asked with a smirk. “Speaking of my vacation however, I have my scene with Dansel after Summaiyi's set is done, so I need to get to the wings. Wonderful meeting the two of you again—take in a few acts while you're here; there's always something to enjoy with the Troupe Magnificent.”

With that, she stepped out of the wagon. Logaire's fond smile followed her out. “If I didn't already have a daughter in the craft, I'd will the entire Troupe to here when I pass,” He said with obvious paternal pride. That same expression then transferred to the pair in front of him. “But back to the here and now. It's good to see the two of you made it through that blizzard. I worried that my poor tutelage of Summaiyi might have sent you to your deaths.”

“We survived with some difficulty,” Jaune admitted. “Managed to take shelter in a burned out hunting lodge, then got attacked by a nakka.”

If anything, the expression of pride grew. “Then the rumors that've been spreading about you have a grain more truth to them than I believed.”

“Pyrrha's the one that killed it,” Jaune said quickly.

And he might have gotten away with it too if it wasn't for a meddling dragon. Pyrrha gave the arm hers was still looped around a firm squeeze. “Only after Jaune grievously wounded it with some Auvenshadar anti-magic. We've made quite the effective team as traveling and adventuring goes.”

“That's excellent to hear.” Logaire focused on Jaune. “Have you been practicing an instrument? Has the Well revealed new magic to you yet?”

Not comfortable with being the center of attention, Jaune rubbed the back of his head. “I played pipes a few times in the last few weeks, but I haven't really been practicing. It feels like I've been practicing though: like remembering the notes and timing are easier.”

The old bard nodded. “Yes, that's normal. Thanks to your contact with the—ahem—Princess here, you're now resonating directly with the Well, connected to the Word and Song. Rhythm, tempo, chords—they all occur to you as natural as your own heartbeat now.”

Nodding, Jaune continued, “And I did manage to tap into the Well to do a few things... not sure if it was magic—I didn't touch any of the energies I know of, didn't make any patterns or even say an incantation. I made a wall that protected us from an explosion, and I managed to make a noise that hurt the nakka. I feel like it would hurt anyone linked to the Well though...” he tried not to let it happen, but his eyes drifted to Pyrrha.

Master Logaire's expression softened and he dipped his head slightly. “We know that as a discarnate disruption, and like all powerful abilities, it is only as dangerous as the hand that wields it. With time and practice, you will gain both confidence and competence with it and all the other magics you'll learn from the Well.”

It was hard not to frown and give voice to what that brought to mind. “What about rea... regular magic? Will I be able to cast that normally over time too now that I've—what was it you called it?--resonated?”

To his surprise the old my gave a dry laugh at that and clapped Jaune on the shoulder. “My boy, whether you realize it or not, outside of rituals, you were never capable of casting 'regular' magic. The reason your spells aren't like the way others cast them is because you were never casting those spells, but unconsciously cobbling together reasonable facsimiles from what power you could coax from the Well: close enough, but not quite the same. At the college, we jokingly refer to those who can duplicate spells in this way 'charlatans'.”

Despite the obvious mirth in the other man's voice, Jaune blanched a little. “So I'm... a charlatan?”

“Only if you want to wear the term proudly,” Master Logaire gestured to the seats about the room. “Please, both of you sit.” He moved to a cupboard built into the wall and opened it, pulling out several small tins and packets of waxed paper. Once the pair were sated by the fire, he tore open a couple of the packets, producing thick dry slabs of something between cracker and dry bread and opened the tins, revealing them to be partially filled with fruity-smelling pastes. After motioning for them to eat, he reclaimed his seat.

“There's no shame in being a charlatan, Jaune. In fact it's a quite useful knack to have—not one many take up or develop. But if you embrace it, hone it? You won't just be able to clumsily ape common spells, you'll gain the ability to duplicate all magic: from conjuring minor flame to replicating prayers granted by the gods themselves.”

Pyrrha smiled brightly at that. “Do you see now, Jaune? You weren't bad at magic at all. And Master Logaire can teach you to harness this power.”

At this, Master Logaire coughed politely. “Actually, I cannot. I have no knock for the path of the charlatan. I'm more of a performer; one who weaves power in music. But again, bards are made, not taught.”

“Um...” Jaune raised his hand like he was back in the Gallius family's front room where all the young children were taught their letters and counting again. “Wait. Isn't there a college? Why have a college if it doesn't teach you anything?”

That made Logaire laugh. “Ah... I remember thinking that myself when I was first taken to the College. The best explanation is that a bard's powers aren't something that we pick and choose like a mage does, but things the Well gifts to us based on who we are. To that end, the College exists to allow each of us to explore out own areas of study and understanding in order to leave us open to gifts more attuned to those studies.”

He took a moment to nibble on some cheese before continuing. “So no, I cannot teach you to harness your power because your power is personal to you. I can, however help teach you more about the world—and yourself. Both of you. That's part of my gifts: I can use the Word to help you understand and grow. Does that sound like something useful to you?”

The pair glanced at one another. They'd both experienced Logaire's methods of teaching and were intrigued. As one, they made eye contact with the old bard and nodded.

Smiling like an old grandpa, he settled back in his chair. “Then let me tell you two stories: one of how the dragons gained the power they have today—and how the first Bard stole that power for mortals.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was kind of a slow chapter, but we're leading into a really cool storytime and some relationship stuff I've been dying to get to.
> 
> We do get to finally understand the fullness what's up with Jaune's spellcasting. In World of Ere d20, there is a Bardic Knack called 'Charlatan' which is a path that lets you 'cheat' spells off all the other spell lists in the game. The flavor text is that you're using discarnate power to fake the spell.
> 
> Beyond that, it was largely flavor text and foreshadowing. I understand it isn't anyone's favorite chapter, but very soon you'll understand why it matters.


	26. Back Into Time

Not Your Saint George

This is a work of fan fiction, created for entertainment purposes only and with no claim to the characters depicted. Ownership of RWBY characters and concepts belongs to Rooster Teeth. The World of Ere setting belongs to Landon Porter and Paradox-Omni Entertainment.

Back into Time

“What you must understand is the one simple fact that all the Vishnari religions acknowledge, but don't give proper weight to: we—what we call the mortal races and the dragons—are not native to this world. Ere is very much a reserve used by the gods to save the populations of dying worlds. We come from a whole span of worlds far flung among the stars, plucked from the brink of destruction.”

After only just those few sentences, Master Logaire's voice became their entire world, leaving them to feel the weight and urgency of being a refugee from a planet collapsing in on itself.

“It was no different for the dragons. As might as they have ever been, in their native plane, they were hunted near to extinction. It was the mercy of the Vishnari that saved them and even then, some of the Dragon Nations never reached Ere's distant shores.

“Grateful for what was done for them, the dragons swore loyalty to the Vishnari gods. And it was in attempting to fulfill that loyalty that they started on the dark path that was to come. For you see, the mortal races proliferated across the western continent and spilled across the Strait of Nivia, coming into conflict with the orcish and ogre civilizations there as well as the goblin hordes. It was taxing even for the mighty dragons to protect mortals from themselves and the enemies they needlessly made.”

His words ingrained Jaune and Pyrrha's very bones with the deep abiding weariness the dragons felt as they hurled themselves into war after war not of their own making to preserve the seemingly suicidal folk their patrons wanted defended. Even being seen as holy avatars and treated as such didn't balm the wounds or bolster the spirits.

“But then there was a discovery: one of the rare places in that time where the power of the Well rose up and touched the surface of Ere. They called these places Wellsprings and a dragon who bathed in it became stronger, more powerful in their magic, longer lived and blessed with the endurance to keep up with the activities of their charges. The holy avatars became so like the gods they served that some began to worship them. And some began to feel they should be worshiped. And obeyed.”

Treacherous pride seeped into the hearts of the pair of listeners.

“They began to issue decrees and give orders. They stopped the eastern expansions and put down infighting. For a time, they brought peace... but there were those, mortal and dragon, who saw profit for themselves in war and conquest. They rebelled, started new wars with new alliances. For the first time, dragon was turned against dragon in bloody conflict. Bitter feuds began and in the shadows cabals formed.”

Rage, betrayal and affront filled them and they were seized with the desire to consolidate power and strike out at their enemies.

“One such cabal, the largest, thought it had the most noble end: to bring all mortals and so-called savages under the benevolent rule of dragons. But they knew that dragon against dragon is an even match, and the Wellspring was too well known to visit without ambush. So they began a great and terrible endeavor: To reach into the Well and draw its power to them. To form a permanent connection between themselves and that power—one that would be passed down in the blood.”

Here, Master Logaire took a moment to sip his drink and clear his throat. “To do so, they constructed the largest, most powerful witch engine ever devised, spanning both continents, thousands of miles. At their focal points were consolidated nests with representatives of every Nation.”

Jaune squirmed uncomfortably. His grandmother's ritual book contained the blight Witches own study into witch engines including schema for a few of her own design and speculation on those rumored. One she'd only mentioned in passing was a construction by the orcs during the time of draconic control: meant to transform one of their own at least bodily if not in magical power into a dragon to fight them on their own terms.

Master Logaire continued, “And to power it: the deaths of thousands of fellow dragons both willing and not.”

This made Pyrrha gasp. Dragons fought all the time, killed one another at times, but ritual sacrifice was something almost unknown to their kind. For that very reason, she guessed.

“It worked, of course. The power of the well was infused into the very souls of every member of the cabal and their progeny and became part of all of their descendants. This is how modern dragons learn magic without arrays or mnemonics: they gain them from the Word and Song that is part of them.

“So armed, the cabal struck out to pursue their vision. The Age of Draconic Control had begun.”

Pyrrha stiffened, broken out of the spell by her horror. “We killed our own,” she murmured, “Even with the horror of what we did to the mortals... ritualistic murder? I... I never imagined.” She fidgeted with her hands, staring at them as if she could see the blood on them. “When my brood mother talked about our sins... I thought she told us everything.”

“These became hidden histories for a reason, I'm afraid,” Master Logaire said, his voice weary of the very concept. “The cabal knew what they did was monstrous, but convinced themselves that it was necessary for their dreams of a benevolent dictatorship of dragons. Of course, even for those who did rule with benevolence, the downfall of their lines was succession.

“While the original cabal ruled from under the weight of what they'd done to gain such power, their progeny was simply handed it along with all the might and privilege it carried—completely ignorant of the price or the purpose. They became arrogant, entitled and that spawned the cruelty we all know.”

He folded his hands and drew in a breath before continuing. “But the witch engine's workings had a far greater effect on the world than anyone knew. The power of the Well seeped into the land, into the creatures. Spirits and small gods rose up, the first divinity sparks birthed the first spirit beasts... and children began to be born with powers that couldn't be explained by gods or magic—the first resonants; natural bards much like you, young Mr. Arc. Without a catalyst and without training, most didn't survive. But then, much like you again, one young resonant found a miracle in the most unlikely of places.”

The pair before him glanced at one another, then were forced to draw closer as a biting cold enveloped them. Logaire's voice transported them to a distant land and time.

“In the icy canyons of Harpsfell, a ragged band of refugees from Draconic control attempted to wait out a storm in a cave. Their leader was a resonant named Baedin. And her closest companion had a revelation that could no longer wait...”

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In the pre-dawn darkness, two figures emerged from a narrow crevasse that split the terrain along the southern edge of a vast, broken plateau. Both were women.

One was a well-built human swaddled in layers of whatever thin homespun she could pull together after making sure the more fragile members of their band would be warm down in the caves. She had the bronzed skin of a Calleni with a proud, broad nose and pointed chin. One side of her head had once been shaven, now given over to shaggy new growth while the other side featured a jet black braid that spilled out of her hood.

Her compatriot was half elven: her skin missing the rich, dark pigmentation of her elven side in favor of a ruddy, uneven pink. Her hair was like the seed head of a dandelion; puffed out like a headdress and the color of the snow crunching under their feet. She was wrapped in a single heavy cloak.

As the greeted the chill, dry wind blowing down from the distant Ordai Glacier, the first saw fit to complain into the scarf wrapped around her face. “I don't see anything up here special enough to warrant getting me up in the wee hour for a long, winding walk through the caves. Especially not up here. There's no cover—we'd be sen instantly from the air from miles away. What was your point, Olaeha?”

The half-elf, Olaeha, chuckled softly and stepped out fully onto the snow-encrusted shelf of land they'd climbed up onto. They were only fifty long steps or so from a cliff on on side and perhaps two hundred from a thin, scrubby stand of evergreens.

“After two years traveling together; the fights we've fought, the friends we've shared and lost, the close scrapes we've wormed ourselves out of; you'd think you'd trust me, Baedin.”

Baedin bumped the other woman with her shoulder as she joined her. “You? I trust with my life. Your judgment? Not quite.” Under the scarf she grinned, waiting for the sarcastic reply.

It didn't come. Instead Olaeha became quiet for a long moment, squinting as she surveyed the frozen landscape. At length, she said, “It means a lot to hear that. You're my dearest friend and I hope that bond can survive... well everything it has to from here on.”

“What sleep-talk is this? Are you feeling well?”

Olaeha sighed, sending up a plume of steam in the cold. “Just... old. Nervous. Happy...in a way. Whatever comes next, it's a burden off my back. I only hope you can forgive me. Everyone, really, but especially you, Baedin. In a way this is all my fault and I pray to gods who likely don't recognize me that I can make things right... or at least start.”

The weight of her words didn't quite seep in for her friend. “Are you drunk or something? You usually don't get like this until after one, maybe two thimbles of whiskey.”

Another sigh. “For all you've learned about touching people's minds, you're still very dense to emotion and philosophy aren't you?”

“Philosophy is for people with luxuries like homes, families...” Baedin shrugged and kicked at some snow.

Olaeha straightened her back and rolled her eyes. Very well. Don't say I gave you now warning...”

She threw aside her cloak, revealing she was naked underneath. Baedin started to protest that she wasn't attracted to her friend in quite that way—especially not in freezing temperatures, but before she could speak, Olaeha's body began to contort and expand.

Along with her swelling body, scales began to grow; long and thing and in layers that trapped air against her rapidly-bleaching hide.

Baedin gripped the hilt of her arming sword beneath her clothing. Horror and sorrow filled her eyes as her friend of over two years was replaced by a white dragon.

And such a dragon. From the two jutting horns beneath her chin, to the tip of her heavy, spade-shaped tail, she was just shy of fifty feet long and twice as tall as Baedin at the shoulder. A set of branching horns rose from her brow to wreath a mass of elongated scales atop her pate that mirrored the hair of her other form.

Languidly, the dragon stretched her wings and neck as the sun finally crested the wall of mountains, bathing her in its first light. The diffusion of light through the feathery scales gave her a kind of halo.

This was too much for Baedin, who drew her blade and pointed it at the ancient enemy of all mortals. The metal sang, not in the way metal does, but with the Song as the resonant poured energy into it. “You! Dragon! What did you do to her? Tell me now or so help me, I will end you!”

She was answered by a familiar sigh writ large and the dragon lowered her head until her whole bottom jaw rested in the snow. One eye almost the size of Baedin's head gave her a mournful look. “I did nothing to her. I am her.”

Still seeing naked steel pointed at her person, she rolled her eye. “Really, what do you think? I've been traveling with you for months to, what? Fatten you up? Amusement?”

“To get me to gather slaves to bring back to your den here?” Baeden demanded. “And you haven't given any proof that you're Olaeha.”

The dragon closed her eyes tightly and blew out a huff of frigid air. “I'm... not being fair to you am I? Your dear friend suddenly becomes something like the enemies you've hated all your life and just demands your trust. It's frankly idiotic that I would expect you would respond any other way. I...” She fretted under her breath a moment, “How do I prove I am who I am? Ah yes: ask me something only I would know.”

“Anything Olaeha would know could have been extracted with dragon magic. You're the one who taught me how to read minds after all.”

Just as she was about to reply, Olaeha cracked pen the eye closest to her old friend. “Wait. That makes no sense. What you just said only applies if you accept that I really am the one who taught you, but you're using that as proof that I'm not. As she mulled over it, her chin dug a furrow in the snow. “Ugh. You are impossible, Baeden.”

To her surprise, the tip of the sword dipped fractionally and the song from its edge became less harmonious. Baeden swallowed audibly.

By now though, Olaeha was focused on the puzzle before her. “But how can anyone be certain of anyone they know in a world with so many capable of changing their shape and the power to read minds? Security, companionship and even intimacy become an illusion if we can't at some point extend some trust to one another...”

Baeden groaned and lowered her sword. “Oh blood to ice. No one I've ever known can ramble on into philosophy like Olaeha Vatres. This... you're a dragon. Why are you...” At a loss for words, she gestured to her overall dragon-ness.

“I've been walking this world as a mortal now for longer than I've spent in my natural form. Once I saw... how far so many others would go for power, for avarice, for pride... I did not want to be a dragon any more. It was also my penance because I had a role in what's happened.”

Baeden's sword rose a tiny bit and her jaw tightened. “What do you mean you had a role?”

“You can kill me for it if you want. You are without a doubt my closest, most valued friend and your life would never have been so difficult if not for me and others discovering an wallowing in the Wellspring—once the only source of the power dragons now wield against mortals.” Olaeha grew quiet. “We kept the location secret, but crowed about the benefits until everyone was scrambling to replicate it. Everything they did since then... it rests on my head.”

At last, Baeden sheathed her sword. “You couldn't control what they did.”

“I could not.” Olaeha lifted her chin from the ground and turned to face her friend head-on. “But I still feel obligated to pt an end to it. You inspired me to that, my friend. Seeing you gathering refugees and those who managed to remain free and taking them to safety. It gave me hope that mortals aren't doomed after all. That if given the right chance, they can thrive on their own without dragons—benevolent or not.”

Baeden blinked a few times, trying to process what was going on. “Me? I gave you hope? I've done nothing but hide a few more people better. At best, I've put off total victory for the dragons for a few years.”

At this, Olaeha chuckled, which made the ground beneath her vibrate. “You do so much more than that. You organize them, you inspire them to not just survive but improve and thrive. Perhaps you don't lead them, but you are a catalyst pushing things in the right direction. And with your power...” Once more, she sighed. “As much as I've taught you about your power, I never told you the most important part: What you have inside you is the power of the Well of Souls, the same power we attained, the same power that has allowed me to count my years in millennia instead of centuries—but it is so much more than that.”

“More than making you live thousands of years? Did I hear that right?”

“So much more,” Olaeha said warmly. “The Well of Souls is the base upon which this entire world stands upon. It's power is greater than reality, than the metaphysics of magic—then fate itself. Oh Baeden, I've learned so much in my time communing with the Well, so much I can teach you that will help you inspire more people, affect more change. It all starts with what I've come to call the First Canto. Once I teach this to you, you will be able to Fool Fortune, Alter Fate, and ultimately, Slay Destiny.”

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Jaune's eyes widened at that last one. “Slay Destiny?”

“It's just as Olaeha said,” explained Master Logaire, “The power of the Well is greater than most—even most bards realize. Magic obeys the rules of physics and metaphysics, prayers invoke the gods, but our secrets from the Well change reality itself. With enough skill, we can control random chance, and with enough sacrifice, we can chance the immediate past—slaying the possibility of what was destined.”

“And that's something I can do. And you think I should be trusted with that?”

Master Logaire shook his head. “Pray that you never have to. You can only do so once and the Well requires sacrifice to do so. I've hear of bard being struck blind, lose the memories of loved ones, even have the alteration they intended to call up changed in ways they never intended.”

“So... don't do that then.”

Pyrrha frowned. “This was all very informative, but I'm not sure how this will help Jaune grow as a bard.”

Master Logaire smiled enigmatically. “Remember what I told you before about the bard's knowledge influencing what secrets the Well imparts to them? This is knowledge that may prove indispensable: where the power comes from, how it all fits together, and the ones who started it all. If you both meditate on that, I'm sure you'll find more value to it than just trivia.”

He then rose from his seat. “But I've taken too much of your time already. I'm certain there are more important things for you to do here than listen to my stories. I'm told that people from the Valley and all of its neighbors are here. Learning from them—about their cultures and experiences—will help you more than speaking with me can. It is akin to the guided and independent study we offer at the College.”

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After saying their goodbyes and giving their thanks, the pair left the wagon and headed back into the village arm in arm.

You seem more bothered by all that than me,” said Jaune, “Want to talk about it?”

“I just wish he would have been able to do something more concrete for you. Teach you another secret or something. I feel like I wasted your time to get a story that...” She trailed off.

Jaune gave her arm a squeeze. “It's not just about that is it? I kind of expected this bard thing wouldn't be that simple. But that story, about what the dragons did...”

Pyrrha shivered. “I'll admit: after hearing that, I agree with Olaeha: I'm not quite sure I want to be a dragon any longer. My most precious moments since I left the nest have been since I took this form. Why go back?”

“Killing the nakka for one,” Jaune pointed out. “But I feel like you shouldn't make that kind of choice based on the story. After all, Olaeha was a dragon and she did the right thing. The Godsword helped in the war, so did dozens of others. The way I see it, dragons aren't so different from people: there's good ones and bad ones.”

He smiled at her. “And you're definitely a good one. No matter what shape you're in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is one of those chapters people will only appreciate once the story is over. There is a LOT of foreshadowing here and it's not just the obvious one because how can I NOT fire that Chekov's gun? I know this won't be a lot of people's favorite chapter, but there will be payoff.
> 
> I personally really like how Olaeha came out. She's just kind of dorky and dramatic. I'd like to do a bit more to flesh out Baeden, seeing as she's the savior of the mortal races and all, but hey, this isn't her story. Maybe one day I'll write the founding of Harpsfell and the War of Wyrms and she'll have her day.
> 
> So here's another fun bit of coincidence: Slay Destiny has been a thing since long before the Vol 3 finale. In 2000, I created the World of Ere for the Wizards of the Coast. Part of the setting was the idea that bards weren't just Charismatic, but are so charismatic that they work by impressing the universe itself into letting them cheat code their way through everything. I also gave bards a resurrection spell based on that called—drum roll please—Slay Destiny.
> 
> It was actually not til around when I was writing the scenes at the hunting lodge that I realized how perfect that spell would be for an Arkos story. Now granted, in the new WoEd20, Slay Destiny does way more than resurrect. It basically lets you say something in the last 24 hours didn't happen—then you roll on a table to see what price the Well exacts and have to exchange Slay Destiny for a different Bardic Secret.
> 
> Next Chapter we'll be back to the main story and some more shippy goodness plus some more of the werewolves.


	27. The Happy Illusion of Choice

It took a bit of wandering around Croceatta before Jaune and Pyrrha's moods were restored. Once more arm-in-arm, they strolled the festival, taking in the sights and sounds. Things only started to return to normalcy when Jaune took them away from the main body of the festival to a small stone house on a hill that sported a smokehouse nearby almost as large as it was.

This was the home of the Ostfard family, a small clan who over the years had developed and jealously protected secret arts of heat and air manipulation as well as those of spice rubs and marinades. This made them some of the most celebrated makers of smoked meats in the Valley (if the patriarch of the family, Vernat, was to be believed).

“This... this is amazing,” Pyrrha said, struggling to hold herself back from just shoving her face into the oilcloth bag in her hands.

“You liked ornis jerk so much, I thought you might like one of my favorites: the Ostfard family secret shield cerato jerky.” Jaune had his own small helping rolled into a strip of oilcloth. Pulling out a bit, he took a nibble, allowing the nostalgic feeling to overtake him. Years long past, his grandmother gave him pieces as a reward for a hard day's work practicing at his rituals with her.

“Just the right balance of sweet and spicy,” he commented, “And there's really nothing like smoked cerato.”

Pyrrha nodded. “This is my first time ever having cerato. They're a bit... well too large for me at the moment.”

“Domestication and agriculture do have some advantages over just being born an apex predator,” he glanced aside to enjoy the expression on her face as she savored another bite. After a brief moment's hesitation, he slipped his arm around her shoulder. There really was no mistaking now how easily she relaxed into the gesture or the extra contentment that entered her expression.

“So where should we go now?”

“Hmm.” She tucked her excessively large bag of jerky under her arm to free one hand to tap lightly against her lips in thought. “I did hear someone mention something I think we'd both really enjoy. It's supposed to start in a few minutes...”

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Really there was no other place for it.

The Seven Cups was Croceatta's only ale house, and what place but a drinking establishment could possibly serve as the venue for Croceatta's Planter's Festival storyspinning contest? After all, those walls had seen more lies, embellishments, tall tales, fabrications and lame excuses than the whole of the Bardic College back in Harpsfell.

The open space where drunkards usually danced now served as a stage for the various tellers; the bar as a display for the prizes on offer. The third prize, marked with silver trim, was an iron ring with a chip of amethyst embedded in it. The second marked with gold, was a handsome leather coat with a matching mantle. And first, given pride of place with a trim of precious aluminum, was a scarf of fine white silk with black stripes at the edges.

Jaune and Pyrrha arrived while the first contestant was in the middle of their story: a classic retelling of the Pearl of the Ceycades. It was a well known story with little personal touches by the dark-eyed man telling it. What he lacked in originality, he made up for in flare in the telling.

They weren't the only ones in late; while they were taking their seats, Jaune noticed a black-haired woman in a robe come in. He could have sworn her gaze lingered on them before she found a place to sit.

For the next three hours, five other storytellers offered their best. None of them was on par with some of the professionals out among the festival-goers making coin on their talent. Finally came the moment of truth. Pyrrha had cheerfully signed Jaune up to take part—and then he'd done the same for her. After all, they had both heard the other's talent first hand.

Pyrrha was called first... and the pressure of having so many eyes on her clearly showed. Though she offered up some interesting and even insightful twists on the tale of the Great Golem (including a great deal more focus on how it befriended a village child), she stammered through her opening and never quite got comfortable enough to add much in the way of theatrics.

Still, when she returned to the table, she was all smile from having dared do such a thing at all.

Then it was Jaune's turn. He wasn't bothered by the audience, having been participating in every festival storyspinner's competition he could get to since he was in his twelfth year. In fact, as he stood there before him, he felt a sort of energy flowing. Between him and those watching, between each individual person, and to a greater extent between him and Pyrrha.

Now he understood what it was: resonance. Everything resonated with everything else. The interplay between them was what the power of the Well interacted with—and as a bard, he was a ground for that energy, a means of directing and modulating it.

He took a deep breath and a greater calm came over him. When he began, instinct allowed him to put a little bit of the Word into his own. He told the assembled the story of the Joyful Prince, putting emphasis on the freedom of choice the prince found after abandoning his birthright and eventually finding love with a beautiful thief—who herself turned out to be secret royalty. The running refrain throughout the prince's exploits were 'as he so chose'.

“And they lived out their days together happily, far away from their lives of plenty and power. As they so chose.”

By the time Jaune ended the tale, there was no side conversation in the alehouse, only the silence of an entirely rapt audience. Satisfaction and pride swelled his chest as he claimed his seat next to Pyrrha.

“That was wonderful, Jaune,” she said to him, leaning in close. “I think you might get first place this time.” Then a realization struck her. “Did you...”

“Only a little,” he admitted. As far as he was concerned, he'd paid in years of suffering for his bardic abilities, so he deserved to use them for personal gain once in a while. After all, no one would be hurt when he took first place. He wondered if the scarf might be enchanted to keep the wearer warm too.

And that train of thought lasted right up until the last contestant—the black-haired woman who followed them in—took the stage.

At its core, her tale was nothing more than the semi-historical tale of the fall of the Wensiiri assassin clan. Only her talented and twisted mind transformed it into the most bawdy recitation the Seven cups had ever seen since a few years earlier when Yang, Summer and Taiyang were all drunk and singing 'Ode to the Ladies of Shantae' together (a surprisingly common family activity for the Get of Shuck).

One thing is certain above all other truths in all worlds: a partially drunk, mostly-male audience is always going to favor the dirty story told by a pretty girl, even if another story had quite literally resonated with their souls. And that is why a certain 'Miss Belladonna' walked away with the scarf and Jaune had to settle for his second second place.

“It is a very nice coat though,” Pyrrha comforted him as they left.

Truthfully, it was a nice coat; one with an enchantment that made its many pockets each have an enormous capacity while the mantle had its own that kept the coat warm without overheating the wearer even in the hottest weather.

Of course, his loss wasn't what was distracting him at the moment. Otherwise, he would have had a much different reaction as Pyrrha carried on musing. “And your story was better. Though for true I've never heard a story like the one that woman told. Do... humans really seal their relationships like... that?”

Also, he might have noticed how intrigued and oddly relieved she sounded.

Instead, he responded with, “Was it just me or did she focus right on us whenever she when back to the side story about Kiyo and Mokabe? What was that all about.”

“I don't see how that makes any sense,” Pyrrha mused, “I mean what do we have to do with those characters?”

“Well you are a princess like Kiyo,” he pointed out, noticing a few people within earshot. “Though I'm not exactly the bastard son of a lost assassin clan, so there's that. But I swear by the time they ended up being killed when their coup was put down that lady was glaring daggers at me.”

Pyrrha frowned, trying to figure it out. “But why? She's a complete stranger as far as I can tell.”

Jaune scratched the back of his head while his other hand absently played with the buckles of his new coat. Like most clothing with magic in its construction, it had adjusted to fit him, growing to a length that fell to his ankles. The leather was supple and red-brown in color with straps fitted with brass buckles serving as closures.

“Maybe I'm just reading things into it that weren't there. Eye contact with the audience is a basic technique for storyspinners after all.” He didn't fully believe that. After all, creepy glares aren't a known part of the storyspinning repertoire. But there was nothing for it; they'd probably never see the woman who walked away with the first prize scarf.

“So,” he finally said, “Where do you want to go next?”

Pyrrha tapped her lip and hummed, looking skyward as if for inspiration. Day had eased into night while they were inside the Cups. Soon it would be time to return to the Arc home for bed. Time for one last...

“I know just the place.” Yang seemed to materialize out of nowhere to throw her arms around them both. The scents of liquor and weapon oil told them all they needed to know about how she's spent her day. “Somewhere the two of you ought to go, but neither of you would work up the spine to go.” She grinned in a way that could only be described as 'wolfishly' without any hint of irony. “So it turns out a few of the friends I made in Vini Tresholm are here—learning merchant stuff from their parents and all that. Anyway, they've gotten set up over in the Winmaekr barn tonight. They're teaching people some dances from the elfhames. The kinda dances that their folks don't much like if you know what I mean.”

In case they didn't, she offered a saucy wink to drive the point home.

Jaune's face went red immediately.

He'd heard of those dances. Not the rural stomps of the Valley, or the reels and square dances of the surrounding lands. Not even the hand-in-hand styles he sometimes heard nobles and city folk engaged in. What Yang was talking about were the truly exotic elven traditions that involved not only staying with the same partner with the entire time, but very close body contact.

If people heard that kid of thing was happening in Croceatta, there would be scandal.

Before he could say anything past the steam he was sure was coming out of his ears and mouth, Pyrrha spoke up. “Oh, more dancing? Well that sounds just grand!”

At which point he decided this day was really just the best dream he'd ever had.

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Dancing close was a unique experience, but not quite as titillating as one might imagine, what with all the awkward shuffling and stepping on each other's feet. Not for the first time, but certainly the most painful, he was reminded that Pyrrha—for whatever reason—was heavier than even such a tall well-built woman ought to be. He even had to surreptitiously slink off and heal a broken toe at one point.

“I'm sorry. Again.” It might have been the tenth time Pyrrha apologized on the walk back, this time as they were climbing the stairs back to their room.

Jaune shook his head. “It's nothing, really. Besides, I stepped on your feet just as much.”

“But you didn't break anything,” she moaned, keeping her voice low for the sake of everyone else in the house.

He waited until they reached the landing to turn her around by the shoulder, looking her directly in the eye with total seriousness. “Pyrrha. I spend weeks at a time out in a wilderness that wants pretty much every living thing to die. I'm more than happy to take a broken bone doing something much, much more pleasant.”

His face remained serious until some of the self-consciousness leeched out of her expression and she was forced to offer a small smile for his catty-corner complement. They made it the rest of the way to the room and had already changed for bed by the time Pyrrha screwed up the courage to speak again.

“Jaune?” She asked, standing with her back against the wall as Jaune turned down the covers. When he glanced up, she nearly lost her nerve. “I should apologize.”

“My foot is fine—” he started, only to be cut off.

“It's not about your foot. It's... about the Block. You've waited so long to actually be bid on up there and this year thanks to Yang, you actually had your choice of any of the women there.” Hanging her head, she sighed, “And then I stupidly went and took that away from you. There was no way you could turn down 'the princess' in front of everyone after all.”

Her words made Jaune pause halfway into sliding under the covers. “Pyrrha, I don't care what those people think. I could—”

“Even if it didn't matter to you what everyone else thought, you would still accept my bid so you wouldn't hurt my feelings.”

“That's...” he started, but Pyrrha was having none of it.

“Don't say there's nothing to say I'm sorry for. We've spent quite a bit of time together now. And if there's one thing I know about you is that you feel like you've had no real choices in anything in your life. Being sick meant you couldn't train to fight like other children. That makes you think you've never going to find anyone, and even this new power you've found was something that happened to you. That's why you hate the undead so much, that's why you love storyspinning where you get to change how things turn out.”

There were actual tears in her eyes as she drove onward. “And even knowing this, I still selfishly stepped in and took away the one time in your life where you were in full control. Now that I think about it, I've been doing that since I've met you. I set us on this quest we're on against Lord Citraan. I insisted we go shopping and take part in the celebration at Sol Soddatta even though you hate that place.”

Balling her hands into fists at her sides, she squeezed her eyes tightly closed. “And then today... I have no excuses for that. I know I'm not truly human and that no matter what Yang says, that matters. I have no business asking you to... to...”

“To choose you?”

Her eyes fluttered open to find that she'd somehow entirely missed hearing Jaune getting up and approaching. A tiny gasp escaped her upon seeing their sudden proximity. “I...” she caught herself trying to hedge and forced herself to admit it.

“Y-yes.” Plucking up her draconic pride, she met his gaze. “I've become quite fond of you in our travels. But... I understand that you don't want—” This time, it was Jaune that interrupted her; not with words at first, but by laying his hands on her shoulders.

“Pyrrha; the truth is that all those other women at the Block today? They weren't there for Jaune Arc the guy you know and walked from the mountains to here with. They were there for the guy Yang invented: the Dragonslayer of Croceatta. You're the one who cares about me, and you're the one... the one I care about. There never was a choice. But sometimes? Choice is just a happy illusion anyway.”

He drew her closer before adding, “One you don't need when there's only one that you want in the first place.”

They fell silent on that note, their faces slowly drifting closer. The space between them closed until their lips finally met. They were stiff and awkward at first, but instinct and mutual attraction put need and vigor into their actions and the kiss deepened, as did their embrace.

Consumed entirely by one another, they didn't know they were moving until the back of Jaune's knees hit the bed and he dropped onto it in a sitting position. Pyrrha followed him, ending up straddling his legs. For a moment, Jaune felt her tense up and her weight trebled and lessened.

That action broke the passionate spell between them if only just and the parted, breathing heavily as they stared into each other's arms.

“You never answered my question,” Pyrrha asked breathlessly. “Is this how humans seal their relationship?”

He blinked, having to take a moment to remember the original context of the question. This brought up a one of his own. “H-how do dragons do it?”

Self consciousness painted her expression and she answered in a near whisper. “We mate.”

That made Jaune swallow hard. “Um... well it's kind of like that for humans—at least in the valley. But it's way more complicated. First you court for a while, then you announce your intentions, then after a year and a day you marry and can have kids and your own household.”

He'd been around enough house cats in his life to know an unhappy purr when he felt Pyrrha rumble one against his chest. “A year and a day?” It was enough to make him realize—pardon the pun—the general thrust of her original inquiry.

“Oh. You mean if we can... uh... mate. Well that's what the year and a day are for to make sure we can... uh... make each other happy. You know in that way and others. So once we declare our intentions,” he blushed a little and then had to grin, “which you pretty much did by bidding so much for me on the blo—” 

He didn't get to finish because that's all the information Pyrrha needed to pull him into another, deeper kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was expedited via P@treon by reader Iron Phoenix! Many thanks for your support.
> 
> So yes, we've certainly reached a turning point with two maybe three chapters left in the Croceatta arc and of course finally establishing our wonderful pair as a couple. This scene has been in my head for a long time and amusingly enough, some complaints readers had were there on purpose just to serve this moment.
> 
> Backing up a bit, I cut a bit where Blake ends up talking to her handler after the story contest to explain herself to them, but I removed it because I rather liked the idea of Blake doing this just to screw with her targets. In my mind, Blake has a rich inner life and without friends around, she'd resort to this kind of thing.
> 
> Like the vanilla bit, I added the thing about how risque waltzes were back in the day as a way to place this story in a relative time period. If 'modern' Ere is 1860's the Age of Tragedies where our story takes place is the 1700's but also the effective start of a 400-year dark age. The waltz just so happens to have had its roots in 1750. I am such a dork for woldbuilding.
> 
> Another cut bit was that Qrow was originally at the Cups, angry that his drinking time was being interrupted.
> 
> There's a shout out in the last scene I know most won't get: Pyrrha using her shapeshifting power to alter her weight is a reference ot Mickey Reinhart Zucker's Legend of Nightfall, where the main character's power is to alter his weight, often by rapidly altering it, which is referred to as 'trebbling'.
> 
> Nightfall has a special place in my heart because it inspired Runebreaker, with its plot of a hero forced to work with a villain.
> 
> Finally, I know earlier I said this fic might be turning M-rated. Here's the deal: I don't really want to reduce the number of people who can read and enjoy this fic by changing the rating. If there is enough support however, I will make a one-shot for the 'lost' chapter between this one and the next for the lemon that happens right after this and any others that come around in this story.
> 
> A word of warning though: I've never written a sex scene for an audience before. I'm not opposed to it, it's just that I got used to writing for WEB-16 with my Descendants series.
> 
> By the way, Jaune isn't lying about how things work in the Valley. I took the idea from some historical arrangements and actually discussed this with a reader who was concerned about the two possibly not waiting until marriage. Here the engagement period is used in part to determine sexual compatibility. Which IMO is a pretty smart thing to do. Imagine waiting until marriage only to find out your preferences, appetites and styles don't line up?
> 
> I guess it helps that Ere didn't have the Romans drive naturally contraceptive plants extinct (through overuse), which meant that all sex had the risk of pregnancy thereafter.
> 
> Anyway, unless someone else would like to expedite a fic (yes, you can even get me to put out Shattered Stars next this way), next week will be Arc Reaction kicking off the final arc of that story.
> 
> And what's next for this fic? Werewolves and drama!
> 
> Stay awesome my friends!


	28. By Blood or by Heart

Pyrrha awakened in the small hours of the morning with her arms around Jaune. The sensation of skin-on-skin contact was still new and exhilarating, as was the deep and abiding satisfaction that filled her. It would be a year and a day before they could be fully recognized by human standards, but by a dragons, he was now hers and she his.

Still she wondered... Among all the things her brood mother taught her, she'd been very vague about the bond forged when dragons mated. There was some level of lingering bond, she knew that much. And dragons usually mated for life. But the exact mechanism of hat and how it affected inter-species relationships? That was a topic shrouded in mystery.

The existence of dragonsired pointed to the possibility of a dragon mating for reproduction without forming a meaningful bond. Or was that because that bond couldn't form with non-dragons. Maybe Jaune—another creature of the Well—might factor into things.

Willfully, she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. Maybe they had forged a mystical connection and maybe not. Mortals did well enough with 'mere' emotional bonds all the time, so why couldn't she? Raising herself up on one arm, she leaned over and kissed her sleeping mate's temple.

She liked kissing, she'd found. Lips, like hair were something dragons lacked in their natural forms. So there was an inherent novelty to making use of them, especially for such a personal use. What long lost gods had created dragons without such simple yet pleasurable features?

Then the thing that woke her up reminded her of itself and it was one of the... less pleasurable things about being human. They didn't have a reasonable way of regulating their temperatures like dragons and their skins were like sieves, leading them to sweat copiously during vigorous activity and wasting massive amounts of their body's water.

In short she was very thirsty. More parched than she could ever remember being even one days she'd found a nice volcano to wallow in.

Reluctantly, she untangled her legs from Jaune's and slid out of the bed. Coll air assailed her, raising goose-pimples immediately. She stifled an unhappy noise in the back of her throat and located her nightgown from where it had landed on the floor earlier.

It didn't help much with the cool air, so she quickly tapped her native flaer and conjured a shell of warmth around her. It wouldn't last long, but hopefully long enough to complete her mission and return to bed.

Barefoot, she slipped out of the room and down the hall to the stairs. Belatedly, she said silent thanks that no one in the house full of werewolves hadn't heard what they'd gotten up to in the night. Of course, she thought as she descended the stairs and crossed the great room, that peace would only last until Weiss or gods-all forbid Summer smelled them the next morning.

While the main kitchen was outside, there was a small area separated from the great room by a counter, where food could be prepared for service, and there lay the focus of her quest. It was a basin built into the counter with a spigot jutting out of it topped by a smooth clay disk inscribed with akua arrays.

Aping what she'd seen the Arcs and Get of Fenris do, she put her finger to the disk and ran it along the edge clockwise. There was a low musical hum and water began to pour from the spigot. Pleased with that little marvel of innovation, she cupped a hand to catch some—only to draw back when she found it chillingly cold.

“You have to turn it the other way to get hot water.”

“Gah!” Pyrrha whirled as a mage light illuminated the previously pitch-black room. There before her stood—or rather sat—Summer of the Roses and Muriel Arc, occupying the table where Violetta and the hailene priestess previously played a board game. “How did...”

Summer smirked, taking a sip from the mug she was holding. “How did you not see us in total darkness? Was that what you were going to ask? Come on: who do you think taught Jaune how to cast veils?”

Caught out, Pyrrha folded her hands in front of her. “I'm not quite sure what I should say here. I'm not even sure why you two were waiting here—in total darkness.”

That earned her an eye roll. “I'm not just a good nose and business sense, you know. I've got good ears too.” She set down the mug and shot a glance at Muriel. “Listen, I was willing to keep your secret the whole way, but if you and Jaune are going to be together—or trying to be—then as a mother, I couldn't not tell Muriel what's going on... and what you are.”

While she didn't possess hackles as a human perse, Pyrrha's raised immediately. “I'm am not just some monster come to prey on Jaune.”

To her surprise, concern suddenly flash over Muriel's face and she rose form her seat. “We never said that,” she said soothingly. Closing the distance between them, she started smoothing her hands up and down Pyrrha's upper arms. “I've got nothing against dragons. Never met one before to have any thoughts at all aside from old stories from the War.

Before she knew it, Pyrrha was being led to the table and sat down in one of the vacant chairs. All the while, Muriel continued to assure her. “We just have a few concerns is all. For the both of you. For one—and I hate to be the one that brings it up, but... humans are mortal. Dragons aren't. You will outlive Jaune. You'll outlive any children you have with him from what I've heard of dragonsired.”

“I don't know. I don't know anything about how this will work.” Pyrrha tensed, feeling the strong need to not have that conversation. “It isn't as if I meant to start having these feelings; I just do. He asked me the same question last night and I may have lied when I said I could handle losing him by just being happy for the time we have together. The truth is I'm not sure. I'm terrified of that future, but none of that changes how I feel about him.”

Summer leaned over to a Muriel who was looking shocked at the passion in Pyrrha's response. In a dazed whisper, she said, “I think you're very close to making a dragon cry, Em. Normally, I'd applaud it, but look at her face.”

She earned a glare from her friend before Muriel redoubled her comforting pats to Pyrrha's arms and shoulders. “Oh, come now dear. I don't mean to fill you with dread—I'd likely slap someone who demanded I imagine outliving my Leon, but...”

“I understand. You don't want me to hurt Jaune by having second thoughts later on down the road.” Pyrrha made an effort to pull herself together by taking a few deep breaths. “I'd be more concerned with him having second thoughts about me. For all my efforts, I still don't think he really understands what it means when I tell him I'm not human. He thinks I mean it in the same way as Yang or Nora aren't human, but the gulf between a human and a goblin or werewolf is nothing compared between the one between human and dragon.”

A thud on the table made her almost jump out of her skin. She'd been so engrossed in her worries that she never noticed Summer filling a mug with boiling water until said mug was set down heavily in front of her. The bitter, earthy smell assaulted her nostrils.

“Astarugha tea. If you drink it within a day, it'll keep you from getting with child—up to you if you want it or not, but it's what they use in the valley during the year and a day of engagement,” Summer explained, retreating over to the cabinet to lean there with her arms folded.

It didn't take much mulling over for Pyrrha to nod and take a sip. As a shapeshifter, she was fairly sure she had ultimate control over whether or not she became pregnant anyway, but if she was already doing things the human—or at least the Valley—way, she figured she might as well.

“Five minutes ago, I would have said the same thing about how different dragons were,” said Summer, eyes closed and a small smirk on her face. “Then I heard this dragon go on about love and self consciousness like one of my own or Muriel's daughters.”

Muriel nodded. “And I'd be worried if all this didn't affect you. As for Jaune's feelings; I know my son. What you are doesn't much matter to him. I suppose if you were a vampire or a revenant he'd have moral objections—being undead and all—but if that were the case, you'd both have had to get over your desire for his lifeblood or vitae to make things work.”

Pyrrha quirked an eyebrow. “You don't seem to have the same... severity... when it comes to the undead as Jaune does.”

“It comes with having lived with my mother-by-heart for so many years. Leon's mother—Jaune's grandmother was very flippant about her power over nekras. Jaune probably would be too if he hadn't given himself more than a few frights practicing with her ritual book. One time he brought back the shade of every bug who ever lived and died in the barn. Surprised his hair didn't turn white after that.”

A smile came to Pyrrha's face imagining Jaune with white hair. “He seems especially fond of her even as fond as he is about all of his family. By blood,” she looked to Summer, “Of by heart.” The werewolf beamed with pride at the inclusion.

Muriel nodded. “When he was young and sick, his grandmother stayed with him most days. Everyone else in the valley remembers the Blight Witch who killed hailene with poison crops and raised armies of the living and the dead, but Jaune remembers the sweet old lady who made him smile with stories and magic fireworks indoors. Forgiving Dey rest her.”

“She sounds like a remarkable lady. All of you have sounded remarkable based on Jaune's stories as we traveled here.”

“And yet you had no idea we were all wolves and hobs, goblins and worst of all Arcs before you got here,” Summer pointed out. She pushed off the cabinet and stretch with a dramatic yawn. “Anyway, I would love to stay up late swapping embarrassing stories about Jaune—like that time he got his head stuck in a honey pot—but I actually need a good night's sleep for tomorrow.”

Pyrrha looked up at her. “Another money-making idea?”

The werewolf smiled in a way that couldn't be described in any way but wolfishly. “Nope. My second love: competition. Tomorrow is the Shambelthorn Feats of Strength and this year I've been working on a little something that'll put me over the top. Both my girls are in it—maybe you should join in too. Good fights, free food for the contestants and gold coins as the prize.

“It sounds interesting, but I feel like I have two unfair advantages.”

“Two?” asked Muriel.

Pyrrha blushed a little. “All my fighting skill comes from my diadem. Without it, I'm just very strong.”

“And all my strength comes from the goddess on the green moon,” Summer shrugged as she sauntered toward the door to the back yard. Giving a wave, she said, “And most of the other contestants as hobs, minotaurs and Yang. You'll need to play unfair—and we wouldn't have it any other way.”

Once she was gone, Muriel rose too. “I suppose I've said my piece now and should head to bed as well. For what it's worth; I'm glad Jaune found someone like you. I wish you both as many or more happy years together as I've had with Leon.” After a slight awkward pause, she leaned over and kissed the top of the surprised dragoness's head. She chuckled at the reaction. “Just getting some practice treating you like a daughter, dear.”

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Somewhere in his subconscious, even before waking, Jaune was looking forward to waking up next to his now-betrothed. Thoughts of holding her soft, warm, naked form close filled his dreams such that it was a genuine shock to him when he woke with the bed to himself.

Then he heard the scrapping of metal on stone and cracked open an eye to see what was making it.

There, next to the bed, he found the last thing he ever expected.

Pyrrha, dressed in her nightgown, was sitting by the window. The sun had risen well into late morning and its rays bathed her in radiance. And she was sharpening one of her katars with a whetstone.

Part of it was the grogginess of waking, part of it was an need to quell his natural self-doubt with a joke, and part was what his father called 'a damn-fool Arc inability to tolerate a silence'. These conspired to force him to babble out. “Was I really that bad that you need to kill me to wipe away the shame?”

The sudden question made her jump and almost fumble the weapon. “Oh Jaune. Good morning.” Quickly putting the katar and whetstone on the nightstand, she moved to the bedside and leaned over him. Her hair formed a curtain around them as she pressed a light, sweet kiss to his lips. “You were wonderful. I've never felt what I did with you last night and I greatly enjoyed it.”

When she straightened up, he followed her sitting up and putting an arm around her neck so he could return the gesture. “That makes two of us.” But still, his curiosity had its own demands. “So what's with the whetstone?”

Smiling gently, Pyrrha sat on the edge of the bed. “The Shamblethorn Feats of Strength. Summer invited me to take part.”

This elicited a groan from Jaune. “I forgot all about that part. My least favorite part of any festival in Croceata. A reminder that literally everyone I know is better than me in a fight.”

Pyrrha hummed, a finger to her lips, “That might be different this year. With you new understanding of your abilities, maybe you should join in this year. Going up on the block seems to have worked out for you, so why not this?”

“I suddenly have a terrible vision of a future where you wear me down until I do it.”

“If you surrender quietly I won't get Yang to help.” Pyrrha teased.

Jaune narrowed his eyes. “Last night certainly seems to have made you more bold.” He sat up, their shoulders bumping in the process.

Some of that aforementioned boldness dissolved in a blush as Pyrrha thought about all he wasn't wearing under the blanket. Still, she kept her composure well and bowed her head demurely. “I suppose it has. It's lifted some of the weight off my mind. Finally making sense of the feelings I've been tangled up in. Learning where we stand with one another. It makes me feel more and more like the dragon who proposed we rob a king than I have since we began traveling.”

She almost started as a hand found her own. It was warm in the way no mere fire or dragon could be and while ti shook with nerves, it closed over her hand with a steady strength. After a second apparently to gather his courage, Jaune scooted over and rested his chin on her shoulder, leaving them cheek to cheek.

“We've got to be careful talking about that. Summer or Yang might want in. Or the thug from the Seven Cups the other night might hear and start trouble.”

“True. Though the entire Get left early to train. Yang and her father wanted you to come along, but after last night I thought you might need—and knew you deserved—a little more rest.” Pyrrha rubbed her cheek against his. “So. What do you think of joining in? The rules say magic is allowed as long as it doesn't dispel the ritual that keeps the fights non-lethal.”

He sagged a little against her and she shifted to put her arm around him. “Don't worry so much. I'm sure you'll do well. You weren't able to participate when you were young, but now? Now you have a choice.” With that, she gave him a one-armed hug. “And as you choice, I'll respect whatever you choose. I just thought it would be fun.”

“Sadly, even you aren't capable of seducing me into sparring with a minotaur. But I'll come along to cheer you on though, okay?”

She hummed, pulling him closer. “I'll have to do my best to give you something to cheer for then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but after my hiatus doing commission work plus a ten-day weekday I'm in the MIDDLE of right now, I felt like I really just wanted to get something out there. Besides, action scenes are coming which means a bigger chapter next time.
> 
> We are near the end of the Croceata Arc now and we'll soon be leaving behind some of the fun personalities here so Ren, Nora and Summer especially will be getting a fond farewell before we move on in the next two or three chapters.
> 
> Speaking of chapters, I've made my decision and I WILL be writing the lost chapter of Jaune and Pyrrha's first night together in this fic. It won't be soon, but it will happen. Also I won't make any promises as to how good the actual sex scene writing will be. I'm a veteran of Web-16 work after all and I'm way more used to fading to black.
> 
> I really wish I could articulate what it is about Jaune and Pyrrha that endears me to them and their relationship so much. As much as I like the Competent Girl, Goofball Guy pairings, it's more than that. They just seem so genuinely well matched in temperament and what they enhance about each other. It made my really care for these characters in a way more intense and personal way than most.
> 
> That said, after this most recent episode, I'm probably done with the show proper. It's not even because of the big spoiler, but because of how characters acted and reacted. I found myself tired of or annoyed with characters I used to really care about over and over again and I really don't want that tainting my feeling for the whole crew... or even Hazel or Cinder.
> 
> Doesn't mean I'm out of the fandom. I'll still be writing and reading RWBY fan material. Just... don't expect much canon compliance from here on out. As if there was much in my stories anyway.
> 
> Anyway, on to lighter things. Next up is the next chapter of Arc Reaction. After that though, I'll be honoring some old promises and takign a week to update my Danny Phantom fic, Phantom Reboot. Feel welcome to take a gander at it: you don't have to watch the show to understand it because it's literally a reboot of the show with some of Butch Hartman's original ideas.
> 
> I've also got a few more ideas for All the Myriad Ways fics to offer up. I'll talk more about it once I get a chapter of Assassination Vacation out and maybe update Chemical Soldier or Divergent Evolution.
> 
> Oh, and for you fans of Game On in particular, the first episode of the World of Ere playtest podcast will be up tomorrow, internet willing.


	29. What Love Wrought

Jaune immediately regretted getting out of bed when the entire Get of Shuck gave them amused looks when he and Pyrrha arrived on the green formerly used for the Block. His ears might have been playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn that Taiyang, Qrow and worst of all, Yang gave a loud, pointed sniff at the exact same time.

Yang grinned widely and clapped Pyrrha on the shoulder. “Nicely done.”

If took Pyrrha a second before the meaning of the gesture sat in, at which point the tips of her ears turned red. “I... you...”

“Do I have to keep reminding you people that this here is the best nose in the valley?” Yang asked, rolling her eyes. “Also ears, though I half-expected worse. Really, I had you pegged as a screamer...” she leered, “... Jaune.”

“Is there no way to skip this part?” Jaune asked.

Taiyang laughed loudly and thumped him on the back. Despite having the same generally lank build as Jaune, his strength was evident even in jest. Then he leaned in close so only Jaune and the other werewolves could hear. “Absolutely not. I missed half my warm-ups this morning coming up with 'Dragon Layer' puns and I'm not letting them go to waste.”

As he sank into a sea of mortification, a warm hand found his as Pyrrha drew closer to him. “Look on the bright side; your mother seems to approve of us.”

His eyes went wide. “My mother knows?! Blood and thunder, I have proof there's no pity among the gods: I'm still alive.”

“Oh come on,” Taiyang tousled his hair. “We're all happy for you, kid. And you really ought to be used to this.”

Amazingly, mercy came from none other than Qrow. The dark-haired vaguely orcish man took a swig from the wine jug hanging from his hip and gave Jaune a side-long, appraising look. “So. Going back to the Block turned out well for ya. You plan to join the Feats too?”

The question made Jaune suddenly very conscious of the weight of the old sword and folding shield handing on his belt. He shook his head. “No, it's just that there's a few people around right now that might want to pick a fight with me. Might as well be able to try and defend myself.”

Yang snorted rudely. “You mean that wanker with the mace? After he and his buddies see the Feats, not even Citraan himself would want to mouth off to the Shamblethorns or any of their friends.”

A comment about how only a short while ago she'd been worried that Citraan's bounties would spell the end of the Get's time in the Valley died on Jaune's tongue as they arrived at their destination.

In front of the auction block where the Block had been held before, a space thirty feet across had been cleared and marked off with a circle of crushed oyster shells. Before the block, a throne of wood and rock had been extruded from the earth and upon it sat the chieftain of the Shamblethorns, Uestas.

In his late fifties, Uestas was ancient for a minotaur, but all the same cut an imposing figure. Mountains of muscle bulged even beneath the loose gray toga he wore and his curved horns were polished to glint in the light. He'd long ago laid aside his diazaku in favor of a cudgel that looked like a small tree had grown up around a chunk of barely worked iron. Which leaned against his throne.

Above him flew the banner of the Sylph, the patron of the Shamblethorns. Just below it hung another of Denaii, Croceatta's patron and arrayed around them were smaller pennants dedicated to the rest of the Vishnari Pantheon.

To either side of him, seated in less ostentatious chairs, were Winter to his left and Father Vhaeltressl, the outgoing head of the local temple to his right. Vhaeltressl wasn't looking well; balding head bowed as he visibly kept himself sitting up by force of will. He stared at nothing while the other two, along with most of the crowd, were focused on what was going on inside the circle.

There, a pair of ogres grappled in a titanic clash that made the ground vibrate whenever one threw the other to the ground. As they watched, one—the smaller of the pair—ducked under an over-extended punch and used it as leverage to flip his opponent over his back.

“Woo!” A voice cut in over all the others in the crowd. Not far from where the Get of Shuck plus Jaune and Pyrrha were standing, Summer had found something to stand on so she could egg on the combatant. “Finish him, Jobarra! I've got a handful of silver on you!” She would have been head and shoulders above everyone around her if not for the fact the Matte was letting Gris and Verte ride on her shoulders for a better view amid the rest of the Arcs.

With Taiyang in the lead, the Get made their over to the Arcs. “Seriously?” the blonde man asked his wife. “You put money on him? He's lost every challenge he's ever accepted in an Arena. If he can't kill someone, he's out of tricks.”

Summer stuck out her tongue at him and winked. “That's why he's a long shot. And why I'm going to win a boatload of coin when he wins.”

“Um, Mom?” Ruby asked from where she was standing in Matte's expansive shadow.

“And I'm going to spend it on nothing but completely frivolous things too,” Summer rambled, eyes alight in the same way Nora's became when around explosives. “Like a proper frilly dress like the nobs wear to their fancy parties.”

“Mom?” Ruby wasn't trying all that hard to get her attention. It was hard to fight the kind of momentum that was Summer of the Roses on a roll.

“Cream-colored with pink and yellow so I look like some great big cake. And one of those gonnes everyone's been talking about. Sometimes it gets to be a chore taking prey down with tooth and claw, ya' know?”

The next time Ruby opened her mouth, her voice was drowned out by a groan form the crowd and the meaty thud of a huge body striking the ground outside the circle.

Summer's face melted into a disappointed scowl. “Not even going to look. Jobarra lost?”

“Mhmm.” Ruby nodded.

“Badly?”

Muriel Arc seemed to phase into being through the crowd on the other side of her. “Very much so.”

Grumbling, Summer unclipped her entire coin pouch and tossed it to her friend. Muriel hummed, jangling the leather bag before tossing it up and catching it in her palm. “Looks like Leon and I are going to have a lovely day at the festival. Thank you kindly, Summer. You shouldn't have.”

It was at that moment that she caught sight of Jaune.

Not for the first time did Jaune wonder if it was a natural ability mothers gained upon having their first child, or some kind of training that let them speak entire volumes in a look. Somehow,s he managed to convey that, yes she knew about him and Pyrrha; that no, she was not going to make a scene of it and public; that yes, Jaune had gods-damned well make some sort of formal declaration of intent with Pyrrha; and finally, that his collar was crooked.

Unconsciously straightening his collar, he offered up a meek wave. “G-good morning. So who all is going to be fighting today?”

With a nearly imperceptible nod acknowledging that she felt he'd gotten the message, Muriel listed off on the fingers of her free hand. “Matte of course, and Violetta. I'm going to try my hand again. Then there's your friend Nora, and the whole Get obviously. Oh, and Weiss gave in after some convincing from her sister.”

She frowned in mild, but exaggerated annoyance. “We're going to have to wait through the challenges and grievances though.”

“Challenges and grievances?” Pyrrha asked.

“It's how the Shamblethorns—well most of the whole Valley north of the lake avoid war these days.” Qrow had managed to sidle up without any of them noticing. “You got a bone ta' pick with someone, you take it to tha' Arena during a festival instead of guttin' em.”

A shift in the crowd announced that a new match was about to begin. Winter stood from her seat and strode to the center of the circle.

The drunken werewolf paused a moment to give her an appraising gaze before saying, “Watch an learn, Princess. How us rabble do things.”

Winter was in her full regalia as a priestess of Hessa; white flowing robes adorned with brilliant orange, yellow and red linked sunbursts running from her shoulders, down her ribs to her ankles, a belt of woven cloth-of-gold, and a silver circlet holding her pale hair back. Silk scarves had been woven through her feathers and she flared her wings as she began to speak.

“Beloved family and esteemed friends of Croceatta and the Shameblethorns, it is my great honor to rededicate the Circle of Peace, the Trinigon Arena, for the next honored combat. A special grievance has been leveled this day against the whole of the Lord's men under the banner of the Slain Serpent. Servants of his Lordship Citraan, will you answer this grievance?”

The crowd had gone deathly silent the moment she's announced who the grievance was against. The presence of the Lord's men had been a cerato in the room for everyone since the festival began. Everyone tiptoed around them and the subject of their presence the whole time, even the minotaurs and ogres. To a one, they held their collective breath to see what came of this; who had to audacity to do what they'd all been dreaming of doing.

At the east end of the circle, the crowd parted as the five Lord's men came forward. They were led by a tall man with honey-blonde hair and a matching beard that looked to be a few days past due for a trim. He wore a breastplate of articulated mail emblazoned with the speared dragon icon of his company under a red velvet half-cape. Over on shoulder, he carried a longspear adorned with a banner bearing the company icon.

“Captain Arno Chalkos, leader of this company and loyal Lord's man. I'll hear the grievances against my men.” He said this with a measured look to said men like a weary father with unruly children.

Winter nodded, then inclined her head toward the southern end of the ring where the bearer of the grievance was waiting.

She was dressed for war: shining steel chain bolstered by strategic plates of beaten copper alongside a leather kilt and boots that would probably be too heavy for a normal sort of person to walk in. Summaiyi Copper Daughter of the Wesseri ran slim, pale fingers through corn-yellow hair as she trotted forward, determination in her eyes.

“Captain, the behavior of your men these past few days has been nothing less than an affront to the good people here and a scarring shame to your Lord. Further, the bounties you pursue do grave dishonor to those who fought and sacrificed so that your lord could gain his title rather than find his end of a hailene spear.”

With another step forward, she began to change; fine triangular scales emerging on her skin, tail and wings emerging from clever opening in her armor, and fangs and claws adding her her arsenal.

“You came here hunting a dragon,” she said as her jaw finished distending into a draconic snout, “But I doubt you can even take on half.”

Arno glanced back at his men. No one in the town freely offered up any information to him, but he'd overheard enough to guess at what they—especially his second—had been up to. And as for what his lord had been doing...

“I will bear the punishment for my men's behavior and they will be reprimanded. As for the bounties... I only act on his order—but the alliance with the Shamblethorns still stands. None of your kith or kin is to be included.”

“I don't know why.” Cardin muttered from just behind him. “A monster's a monster and they've even got highlies here—made one a priest.”

Arno turned and fixed him with a hateful glare. “Bite your tongue. When we return to the keep, you'll be lucky to keep your weapon.” With that, he looked back to Summaiyi. “All of us?” For all his men's lack of tack or civility, they were trained and there were five of them including himself; trained to hunt and kill monsters.

Off in the crowd, Jaune briefly considered that Summaiyi had been equally matched against Pyrrha alone, but then had to remind himself that she'd been equally matched against Pyrrha tipsiness be damned. “I never expected to pity that mace guy.”

Pyrrha hummed in agreement. She didn't exactly like either side in the coming battle, but she could guess at the outcome.

“All of you,” Summaiyi drew her tiger hooks with a flourish.

“Then so be it.” Arno reached up and undid the clasp of his cape, allowing it to drop form his shoulders and revealing a round, bronze hoplon shield in a harness on his back.

Winter raised her hands. “Then the grievance is joined. Know you all that by the decree of the gods, no harm dealt within the Arena shall be fatal of lasting. Once a combatant leaves the circle, they have been defeated and shall not be pursued. You are bound by Hessa's Word and the honor of the Shamblethorns.”

Then, with a skipping hop backward and a flap of her wings, Winter left the circle. “Begin!”

“Company!” Arno roared, breaking into a run, spear leveled, “Charge! Exo! Neilo! Oculi!” Those last words were nonsense syllables meant only to give directions in combat and nothing more. He didn't even look back, certain his men would do as they were trained to do.

He met Summaiyi with a powerful thrust of his spear, which he then reversed into a low sweep. The dragonsired woman batted the former away with her swords and hopped nimbly over the other. However, this was all to plan, as in executing the sweep, Arno dropped low, allowing one of his mean, armed with a pair of sabers, to vault off the shield on his back and come down with a pair of overhead strikes.

Summaiyi caught the sabers on crossed swords and pushed their wielder back only for him to be immediately replaced with a new attacker coming at her from the side wielding an arming sword and wooden heater shield. She stepped into his strike, the sword stabbing air as her full strength hit the shield with the sharpened handle of one of her swords.

The point pieced the shield and, stout as it was, shattered it with the strength of dragons behind it. Caught off guard, the swordsman was in no condition to defend himself as Summaiyi stepped back, caught his arm with one of the hooked ends of her sword, and swung him into Arno.

By the time, the two slower, heavier-hitting members of the company arrived. One was a man wielding a pair of blocky, stone hammers, the other was Cardin with his mace. The came from either side, swinging for her torso with all their might.

Summaiyi dove under Cardin's swing and rolled, lashing out with her tail as she did. The thick appendage caught the back of Cardin's knee and caused him to stumbled. She immediately moved to capitalize on his loss of balance, hooking both ankles and hauling hard with her impressive strength.

But as Cardin fell, she realized her mistake in engaging with both her weapons. The man with the twin hammers had come around his fellow and landed both on her ribs. Air exploded out of her lungs and she struggled to move.

That plan came apart when a pair of short swords flashed toward her neck. In the Trinigon Arena, it wouldn't be a fatal blow, but it would lose her the match. Instead, she threw herself into another roll, this time using Cardin as a prop to help her return to her feet.

Arno was there to meet her with a spear thrust that nearly took her in the neck if not for a quick sidestep and deflection with one of her swords. The other intercepted the blade of the now shieldless swordsman. With a sudden twist, she sent the weapon spinning out of his hands. For the second time that day, shock left him totally open and a heavy boot to the chest sent him flying out of the Arena.

And then there were four.

Careful not to get too full of herself, Summaiyi backed off to a position where she had all four of her remaining opponents in her field of vision. They arrayed themselves like a wolf pack: Arno front and center with Cardin and the hammerman at his sides about an arms-width apart. The one with the short swords ranged about behind them, waiting for an opening.

“You got lucky with Finn,” Cardin spat, holding his mace out in front of him, “Half a dragon. Ha. I know all about what they do out in the desert: lying with those monsters just to seal an alliance with them. Face it: you're just a walking treaty for a cult too scared to do with dragons what should be done with them.”

“If these are the kind of elite soldiers he keeps, Citraan must be even more disgusting than I already suspected,” Pyrrha muttered.

Summer, scoffed. “The funny thing is, he was a biter before, but hid this kind of thing pretty well until last winter.”

Once again, Arno spared a distasteful glance at his second, but Summaiyi was already thoroughly provoked.

She opened her wings to their full span and clashed her swords together with a snarl. “You know nothing about me, you ignorant brute. I'm not even of the dragon cults. I come from Auvenshadar itself. My mother was Naedwyn Eagan, decorated hero of the War. My father? Volciferdydennir, also called the Coppersmith. In the war, he forged masterful weapons that helped turn the tide in many battles—perhaps the spellwork in you mace and in your shield bear his maker's mark?”

Slipping into a strong forward stance, she stared down each man in turn with defiance in her eyes. “Trained alongside my sister by my mother; armed with the strongest, lightest and sharpest of blades—I am their legacy. Now let me show you what their love has wrought.”

It took monumental amounts of self control for Pyrrha not to break Jaune's hand giving it a squeeze upon hearing that. Just a little bit of the grudge she bore toward the half-copper dragonsired slipped away at hearing her story.

Her wings made a sound like a thunderclap as she launched into the air. While the company had been expecting a charge, they hadn't been looking for an aerial one. Despite having trained to combat dragons, they hadn't come with the equipment for a flying opponent at a minotaur-sponsored tournament.

Avoiding Arno's superior reach, Summaiyi singled out the hammerman. The tiger hooks, plus her higher ground made him easy pickings as she overflew him, catching him under the shoulders and lifting him into the air. It was a testament to the strength of dragons that she was, while on the wing, able to turn and hurl him at Arno.

The Captain was forced to lower his spear to avoid skewering his man as he came crashing down in the dirt beside him. He glared at her and made a sign with his hands. “Have you forgotten? We're Dragonslayers!”

At his arcane command, the air beneath Summaiyi rushed out from under her and that below her came down like the hammer of the gods, dashing her to the ground and making her lose her grip on her swords.

The man with the short swords saw his opportunity and dashed toward her before she could arm herself.

Unfortunately for him, a dragon is always armed. Snapping her head up, Summaiyi opened her mouth and let loose with a stream of sand directly into his face. The experience was like being flayed a hair-thin slice at a time and when he screamed, it only let the sand into his mouth.

He had no choice but the drop the sword and try in vain to cover his face. If not for the divine magic of the Arena, his skull would have been blasted smooth and he'd have been killed. As it was, he just collapsed, curled up and weeping as the pain drew him into unconsciousness.

And then there were three; and the hammerman was favoring his right leg as he got to his feet.

The scuffle had broken the company's ranks, leaving the remainder arrayed an a rough, lopsided circle around her. Arno was front and center, shield back on his arm somehow. The hammerman was off to her right. That left...

A sound of metal scraping metal came from behind her.

Cardin.

He was at least five of his stride from her and well out of range for his mace.

Not a threat.

Only Arno was strafing left almost as if he was trying to avoid...

She turned ad Cardin swung his mace back. The overlapping metal flanges that made up the head of the mace opened like an industrial flower to reveal a crystal that not only glowed, but was surrounded by a heat-haze that immediately gave its nature away: A flaer energist; the elemental energy of fire coalesced into physical form and used to power any number of elemental magical items.

It was too late to fully dodge as Cardin stung underhand, the head of the mace digging into the dirt—which immediately flared red and started to burn. To melt. It built up and rushed forward in a molten wave that was backed by staccato explosions that drove it onward even farther.

Summaiyi back-winged and tried to throw herself to the side. She missed the wave of lava, but the blast wave still plucked her from the air and dashed her against the ground hard, sending her rolling across the grass.

“Did you know he could do that?” asked Matte, who thanks to how much she'd drank the last night, only vaguely remembered having some sort of confrontation with the man with the mace.

“I didn't know anything could do that,” Jaune admitted.

Back on the field, Arno picked his moment and charged; spear lowered, shield raised.

Rising to a knee, Summaiyi intercepted the incoming spear with her hook sword, redirecting it into the ground. The action jarred Arno to a stop, which she took advantage of by springing up under his guard and burying the bladed pommel of her sword in his gut.

The leader of the Company of the Slain Serpent gasped. The magic of the Arena saved his life, but didn't stop shock from setting in. In the next second, the top of Summaiyi's head slammed into his chin, sending him stumbling back. Numb hands lost their grip on his spear as the half dragoness stood to her full height before him. She finished him with another headbutt directly to his forehead.

Arno Chalkos hit the ground in a daze.

And then there were two and the hammerman was clearly in no shape to keep fighting.

With a grand flourish of her swords, Summaiyi face Cardin once more. “I learned much about magical weaponry at my father's knee. Didn't have a lot of knack for magic, but I did learn. A lot. For example: energists need time to reabsorb ambient energy before they can be used for big effects like your lava wave.”

Clanging her swords together, she struck a dangerous pose. “So for the next few minutes, it's just you and me. Steel for steel.”

And without further ado, she charged.

With a wordless snarl, Cardin met he with a powerful horizontal strike aimed for her ribs that rebounded off crossed swords. He bashed against her defenses again and again, relentless and with astounding strength. “You monsters are all the same! You think you're better than 'mere' mortals and humans because you're stronger, or your faster, or you've got some kind of perverted blood magic!”

His last strike was hard enough to make Summaiyi stumbled back from the impact and he followed up with a slow swing at the legs that would have dropped her if she hadn't flown back a yard or two to escape.

“Or because you can fly like a damn highlie!” He didn't give her time to recover before sprinting for her with another mighty overhead strike. “But humans are smart!” The head of his mace crashed into the ground just inches from a retreating Summaiyi. “Humans are resourceful!” The mace rang out against crossed swords. “Humans have created magic; magic you creatures would have never dreamed of!”

The last impact separated Summaiyi's locked swords, leaving an opening he leapt to exploit.

“You think you're better than us?! We're better than you! And now that Lord Citraan's changed his tune, we'll show you all!”

If he hadn't taken the time to shout his threat, maybe he would have won then and there. He did, however, and Summaiyi flew back once again. This time though, as the mace came down, she linked the hooks of her swords and whipped them out. The bladed pommel of the linked sword gave her double her reach, catching the occupied Cardin off guard as it scored a gash across his forehead.

The thing about forehead wounds is that they bled. A lot. And directly into the victim's eyes.

Cardin tried to wipe it away, but it kept coming. Even once he got one eye clear, his glove was now covered in slick blood and he found himself unable to keep a grip on the haft of his weapon when Summaiyi rushed him. A clumsy swing missed entirely as the half dragoness beat her wings and sent herself flying over his head.

The next (and last) things he remembered of the battle was the sensation of a hook catching on the back of his armor's gorget followed by being pulled backward—into an extremely hard knee.

And with that, Cardin Winchester slumped to the ground unconscious.

Then there was one.

Summaiyi set her glare on the sole remnant of the Company of the Slain Serpent, the hammerman. Having seen hos the others had been dispatched, her dropped his weapons and extended his hands out, palms flat in a gesture of concession.

“The victor of this airing of grievances is Summaiyi Copper Daughter of the Wesseri!” boomed Winter's voice. “And now on to the next challenge: Yang of the Get of Shuck... vs Pyrrha Nikos!”

Everyone in the Get and the Arc family looked at Yang; some glaring, but Summer and Taiyang beaming with pride. She smirked and it was all for Pyrrha's benefit. “Hey, if I'm going to test my mettle, I might as well test myself against the best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been too long, guys. Between my job's unreasonable hours and illness and some personal stuff, I've just been unable to get much done besides slowly working on the WoE d20 game.
> 
> Things are getting less dumb in my life though and I'm getting back on track with the fics starting up here, Descendants coming back next week, and Rune Breaker starting again as well. I'm even about to to publish a new Descendants book.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is a lot of set-up for the second half of the plot, bringing Summaiyi back into play and doing some set-up with Cardin.
> 
> I chose not to use the rest of CRDL here because I didn't want it to look like I was hating on them and because I have a better use for them. Speculate away!
> 
> Not a lot of Jaune and Pyrrha here either. I actually went back and added some reaction shots so they weren't lost. It'll read a lot more smoothly taken as a whole, I'm sure.
> 
> Not a lot more to say right now because I have a lot to do right now. Have a good one, everybody.


End file.
